


A Healer's Journey

by Sereven



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Healer Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sereven/pseuds/Sereven
Summary: In the years after the war, all Dorea Potter had wanted was peace and happiness. But thanks to the infamous Potter luck and some meddling of an old witch, her journey takes her far away from home. Stranded in Westeros, she has to find her own way home. Or maybe she doesn't even want to go back, this new world is vast and full of adventure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there.
> 
> Only a few words about this story before we start with the plot. This story starts about 8 years after the end of Book 7 and completely disregards the horrible events of Cursed Child. The main figure is a female version of Harry, who spent the years after war learning to become a healer instead of an Auror. Why a female Harry? Because this is based on a challenge I've received based on a previous short story idea I had published about a year ago. A female healer in Westeros during the better years of King Aerys time on the Iron Throne.
> 
> The story in Westeros will start in the year 271 AC...

It had been a tumultuous and straining day - one of those not nearly rare enough days that demand all you can give and then some. Work at St. Mungos had been a frenzied nightmare with too many hours and too little breaks and by the time Dorea Potter returned home, she felt more dead than living.

Home… To many of her friends, it was still odd that she had chosen Grimmauld Place of all possible houses as her permanent residence. After the war, the repeat year and Hogwarts and all that followed, she had needed a home, quick. Grimmauld place, grim and dark as it had been, was the best choice to make, or so Dorea had thought.

But no matter how dark the memories of this place still are, it was a home and in her less than lucid state, she was just happy that she had gotten somewhere with a bed.

"Mistress has returned! How may Kreacher serve mistress today?" The crooked old House Elf appeared, as usual, the moment she had left the fireplace.

"Nothing for now. I just…," she yawned loudly, much to the elf's annoyance. It likely wasn't proper for the lady of an ancient and noble House to yawn, even at home, "I just need my bed and at least a week of sleep."

If a week was enough. Her movements were sluggish, her eyelids heavy and her muscles sore. She hadn't felt this beat since Oliver Wood's last big torture… training session before the final game Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Oliver had been a slave driver, just so everyone would remember him after he had graduated. She still had sore spots and creaking bones from that training little over a decade ago.

"As you say, mistress," Kreacher replied. He didn't show it, just like he didn't show his disdain for her, but he was disappointed. A House Elf exists to serve, that was the way Kreacher had been taught, so it was obvious that the lack of work for his mistress was bothering him. "But there is someone waiting for you. The nasty woman wouldn't leave without speaking to you."

The nasty woman. There was only one woman that Kreacher would call that. Well, at least only one that still visits Grimmauld Place. The rest of the former Order members never dared return after Dumbledore's death. Now the pressing matter was why Hermione Weasley of all people had come.

"Just what does she want now," Dorea grumbled, "It's such an ungodly hour, too."

"It's close to noon, mistress," Kreacher told her.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She had thought that it was still somewhere in the early morning hours. "Damn… just how long have I been up this time?" She did the math in her head and nearly staggered when she realized that the frenzy at the hospital had taken nearly an entire day of her time.

Kreacher shot her a nasty look, disapproval radiating from him as he heard her curse. Yet another thing a lady isn't supposed to do, go figure. Hell would likely freeze over before she would ever become the noble lady the titles she had inherited from Sirius would imply.

"Alright, where is she?" she asked, grim-faced by the unwanted distraction from her much needed rest.

"In the kitchen, mistress," Kreacher groused. "Helped herself to some tea. The good one, too."

"That's fine," Dorea grumbled.

She pushed past the elf and wobbled towards the kitchen, intent on getting this surprise visit over with. She wasn't happy about the unannounced disturbance, though they had become increasingly rare in recent times. All of them barely saw each other anymore, mostly due to their busy careers.

As Dorea entered the kitchen, she could hear a soft humming, some muggle tune whose name she couldn't remember at the moment, and the clicking of a spoon hitting the tea cup.

Hermione was sitting at the table, the Daily Prophet in front of her. Dorea's old friend looked prim and proper, as usual, wearing her smart skirt suit, her once bushy hair now tamed in a strict bun. She stirred her tea absent-minded as she read the newspaper. Only when Dorea sat down across from her and Kreacher appeared with an audible crack to bring his mistress the tea she hadn't asked for, the woman realized that she wasn't alone anymore.

"Wow, you look awful," were the first words out of Hermione's mouth. "Are you alright? Maybe you are sick or not eating right." And then came the mother hen mode, or as Dorea like to call it, Hermione's inner Molly Weasley. On some days it was frightening to see how alike Hermione and the Weasley matriarch could be in certain situations, even though their goals and outlook in life are completely different.

"You know, I feel even worse," Dorea sighed, "I'm dead tired and," she sniffed a bit, "And I'm in dire need of a shower right now."

"Busy morning then," Hermione hummed.

Dorea replied with a mirthless chuckle, "Rather a nightmarish day. Apparently, I've spent a little over twenty-nine hours at work..."

"That can't be healthy. The Ministry regulations for work hours are..."

"Your regulations are worth shit when you get dozens of badly wounded burn victims while you are one of only six active healers during your shift," she growled in reply. All Hermione knows are paragraphs and law texts and it annoyed Dorea to no end.

"What happened? A house fire or something?"

"Try dark idiot playing with Fiendfyre in a busy Knockturn Alley brothel. Ron can tell you more about that. Heard he was the Auror to lead the cleanup," she sighed and shook her head, "Seriously, one of these days I will lose what little faith in wizards I've got left."

"That's terrible. The use of Fiendfyre is highly illegal and not to mention that prostitution has been outlawed in Wizarding Britain almost a century ago and..."

"Hermione!" Dorea had to put an end to Hermione's ramblings, or she would fall asleep during another boring lecture about laws and regulations. "One, I don't care about your laws, I just do my job, and two, why are you here? I mean, really, why are you here today, stealing my sleep?"

Hermione frowned, clearly thinking different about the importance of her laws and regulations. It was an argument as old as their friendship.

"I'm worried about you," Hermione told her, after some moments.

Dorea arched a delicate eyebrow in surprise, as she heard this. Sure, she looked like shit at that very moment, but that didn't mean that she was entirely incapable of taking care of herself.

"I'm fine, seriously. Stop worrying or you get even more gray hairs."

"I don't have a single gray hair..." Hermione huffed.

"Yet. Can't be long, though," Dorea joked. Hermione even cracked a smile, if only for the briefest of moments.

"Dorea, just listen to me, for once. Something is wrong here. With you, I mean. And people are starting to see it, too. People are starting to talk."

"Is this the whole twenty-five and unmarried hogwash again? I've told Molly just a week or two ago that I will find the right man in my own time and start a family. I don't need a husband and though Charley surely is a nice guy, I'm not interested in her only unmarried son. I'm just more focused on my work at the moment!"

"Not that… Not only that," Hermione sighed. "Have you looked into a mirror lately?"

A mirror? Oh… she had a hunch where this was going and she didn't like it one bit.

"I do know that I look like shit. Thank you oh so much for pointing it out for the second time in like… five minutes? Makes me feel so special," she tried to avoid the elephant in the room by being sarcastic. Works wonders with most of the Weasleys and even Headmistress McGonnagal.

"Not that," Hermione replied, now visibly annoyed all of a sudden. "You need to take this more seriously."

"I am taking everything seriously. It's my life we are talking about." The tone of their conversation had become much more gruff, as both women were unhappy with the road their meeting had taken.

"Then you do know that you haven't aged a day in..."

"Around eight years, give or take a few days?" Dorea told her icily, "Yeah, I've noticed. Hard not to notice when all the friends from school suddenly start looking like their parents and only you remain an unassuming adolescent. I mean, I'm fine with the way I look. I look great. Many people tell me that. My patients tell me all the time and compliment me even. There is that one dude at work, Robert, he hits on me all that time and… Damn. I know, I'm rambling, but… It's freaking me out as well."

"Do you have any idea how this has happened?"

"Me not aging? Not a damn clue, but I sure have tried to look for clues. But I've found nothing. Unless Kreacher has somehow smuggled Flamel's elixir into my tea every day, I've got not one damn clue," she growled. Her annoyance only grew when she saw the incredulous look on Hermione's face. "Don't look at me like that, Mione, I do read from time to time. I just don't inhale whole books in one sitting like you do. Now that's an unhealthy hobby."

She took a sip from her tea but nearly spat it out. It had gone too cold, she can't stand lukewarm tea. She took out her wand and cast a heating charm on it before she downed it in one large gulp. It was too hot now, but the scalding heat in her throat took her mind off the tiredness and the annoyance she felt.

"That wand…" Hermione almost screeched, "Why do you still have it?"

Dorea sighed again. Of course, out of all the people, Hermione would recognize the Elder Wand on sight. She never seems to forget anything.

And the wand… Dorea quickly put it back in her sleeve, into the carefully hidden wand holster on her arm.

"I thought you wanted to put it back into Dumbledore's tomb," Hermione accused, "You promised you would. It is a very dangerous and dark artifact."

"I tried," Dorea growled, "God dammit, I've tried it, twice, and every time it is in my hand the next time I wake from sleep. Do you know how many nightmares I've had of an Inferi Dumbledore sneaking into my bedroom, watching me sleep with that damn twinkle in his half rotten eyes? Even in death, he has to make my life an even greater mess than it already is..."

"This is no laughing matter," Hermione chided.

"No shit, you don't see me laughing," Dorea shot back.

This entire conversation was getting nowhere and only made Dorea's already crappy day even worse. Just why does Hermione have to be such a pain in the ass all of the time? Always busy butting into her friend's business, it was getting annoying.

"You need to do something about this. Maybe if you go and consult the Unspeakables you will get some answers. They have studied all kinds of artifacts," Hermione mused.

"Oh, you mean those guys who still randomly show up for checks of my credentials as a healer just to mess with me and undermine my authority? Yeah, I think I'm gonna pass on that one."

"It can't be that bad," Hermione defended, albeit somewhat more subdued.

"Hermione, they hate me. They still blame me for the whole disaster in our fifth year. Remember, the whole battle in the Department of Mysteries? We crashed so much stuff and destroyed so many of their little experiments and rituals that it is more likely for me to fall madly in love with Voldemort and Snape at the same time than them ever helping me. And remember, Snape and the dark tosser are dead, so there you have your chances."

But Hermione, stubborn as she could be, would have none of it. "You need to make the first step then."

"I'm done making amends with everyone and their mother," Dorea shouted. "And my wand," she pulled the Elder Wand out of her sleeve once more and held it up, "this wand has saved hundreds of lives in the last few years. Not to mention the lives I have saved when I offed that pesky dark lord for those god damn ingrates. I'm sick and tired of people looking at me oddly or treating me like shit because they feel that I have wronged them in the past."

"Dorea..."

"No, Hermione. I won't ever go and apologize to those constipated, bullheaded, ungrateful shites. Accept that or leave!"

She knew that she was getting more worked up about this than she should be, and Hermione was likely one of the very few persons who did not deserve any of her anger. But she was getting so tired of wizards and witches and their idiocy.

Hermione only shot her one of those disappointed looks that Dumbledore must have taught her, as she stood up. "I see that your looks are not the only thing that hasn't changed with age," she said, "I'll come back in a few days when you are in a more agreeable mood."

"Don't bother," Dorea said, as Hermione left the kitchen. She was just happy to be alone now. She took some more moments to calm herself before she stood up. Her friend's troublesome visit was soon enough forgotten, as only two thoughts dominated her mind. A warm shower and her even warmer bed… And maybe a day or two without work… that'd be nice...

* * *

A few days after Hermione's ill-fated visit, Dorea was back to work. She was glad that for once nothing major had happened, so she could actually rest more than just a few hours. Somehow it felt almost as if she had slept for the entirety of those two days. And even if she had been out of bed and walking around, it must have happened in a state of mental exhaustion that kept her from remembering any of it.

Fully rested and in a good mood, for once, she did her rounds and visited her patients. Only a few of the burn-victims were still around, as the majority of them had fled the hospital as soon as they had gotten the necessary amount of treatment from the healers. None of them were too keen on being linked to a fire in such a… unconventional place.

She had laughed so hard, when her superior, an elder witch named Olivia Ashton, had told her about the mass exodus of patients that had followed the spread of a certain rumor. The rumor that the vilest reporter of the Daily Prophet was at St. Mungos, to find out more about the fire and the gentlemen who had the misfortune of getting caught up in it.

On some days Dorea rued that she had to take the healer's oath. St. Mungos insisted on it, to keep the secrets of their patients. No one was allowed to hear about what happens inside the hospital. No healer is allowed to divulge the secrets of a patient. A shame. This last incident alone would have ruined the political careers of some of the most despicable and antagonistic men in the Ministry.

But some things just couldn't be changed.

She finished her checkup on young Colin Creevey, the son of the former Gryffindor Dennis Creevey. The toddler had been brought in some days ago after he had somehow gotten his pudgy little hands on his father's wand. For some reason the child had chewed off the upper third of his father's wand before anyone had found him, which earned the boy a prolonged stay in the hospital for exposure to the dangerous core of his father's wand. All just a precaution, but still…

Dorea could only wonder how it was possible in the first place that the boy had managed to get a wand and try to eat it. The darn things did seem rather durable after all...

Dennis was not present for the checkup, only his wife. Dorea was glad for it. As much as she missed the old days, even the annoying Creevey brothers, she never knew how to act around Dennis. His brother had died because he wanted to help her in the Battle of Hogwarts. It was obvious that Dennis still loves his brother greatly, he did name his son Colin after all, yet he never blamed her for Colin's untimely death. But even years later, Dorea was still bad at dealing with these people. People who have lost family and friends because they had believed in her. None of them had ever blamed her, but she had done plenty of that all by herself. These days she just tries to avoid them if possible.

"Your son should ready to leave in a day or two. We just want to make sure that he suffers no ill-effects from the Kelpie hair, Mrs. Creevy. But so far all looks good," Dorea told the mother, who gave her an elated smile.

"Thank you. We had already feared the worst when Colin wouldn't wake up when we found him."

"Well, we don't have many poisonings through wand-eating, but your son was lucky that he only ate a very small part of the Core. Just please be more careful from now on," Dorea said, as she looked at the small boy on the bed. Little Colin grinned widely at her, "No more eating wands, my little friend. Visiting the big hospital is only half as cool as it sounds and wands taste icky."

She made a grimace, which brought an even bigger smile to the toddler's face. She smiled, too. Little Colin was a nice and normal patient. Not one of the countless others who see the Girl-who-lived and demand miracles from the fabled heroine.

"I'll be going then, Mrs. Creevey."

"Of course, thank you," the woman replied, truly grateful.

Dorea nodded once more before she left the room and returned to the busy corridors of the magical hospital. There were only a few other green robed healers around. Some of the nurses were running about, but the majority of people Dorea could see were normal witches and wizards. Visiting hours are always a busy time at St. Mungos after all.

And much to her consternation, all eyes seemed to follow her, as she made her way back to the break room. She was done with her rounds for now and still had some time before her shift would be over. Some moments of rest would be nice, she thought. Away from prying eyes, only surrounded by colleagues. Thankfully the other healers weren't nearly as rude and creepy as the visitors.

So she made her way down the corridor and down the stairs to the ground level of the hospital. Eyes followed her. As did the whispers. It would have annoyed her, but things had been like this for years now. Sometimes she wondered if this was the reason why Dumbledore had only rarely shown his face in public. The creepy hero worship that reminded her of a cheap horror flick.

"Dorea!"

Some called out to her, just as she was about to enter the break room. A familiar voice, one that belonged to a friendly face. One she was all too happy to see.

"Neville, hi," she said, as she saw her friend.

Some of these days she had a hard time accepting that the man she saw now had actually been that pudgy and clumsy little boy she had met and befriended during her first year at Hogwarts. The adult Neville was everything the child Neville had never been. Tall, confident and also rather good looking. Hannah, his wife, was a lucky woman and envied by many for that. Who would have dared to guess that Neville would turn out like this?

She quickly pulled him inside the break room with her. No one would bat an eye at her for doing this. They had several smaller rooms for meeting family and friends here and as long as no one decided to invite more than one or two people at once, there would be no problem.

The lavishly decorated room was nearly empty. Some trainees were playing cards at a table near the windows and some nurses were gossiping on the couches at the center, but overall the large room was nearly empty. She didn't bother greeting any of them, as none of them had realized that she had entered. So she just pulled Neville into one of the smaller rooms, where they would have some privacy.

Neville didn't seem bothered by her pulling him around. It was hardly the first time she had done it.

"Busy day?" he asked her, as he pulled her in for a bear-hug that would have made Hermione green with envy.

"I'm doing fine. Just finished my workload for today. Unless some idiots start another war in the next thirty minutes I will actually get out of here on time for once," she told him with a smile, "Here to visit your parents again?"

Neville nodded, a somber smile on his lips. Both his parents had been permanent guests of St. Mungos for the vast majority of their lives. They had never seen their son grow up, never seen him marry or become a father. In many ways, he had it worse than her. Her parents just died, his, though, had been left behind as empty shells. Breathing but not quite alive anymore. Still, he shouldered this burden with a strength only a few possess.

"Mum's birthday is in a few days," he said, "But after talking with Healer Monroe, we have come to the decision that it should be her last. I'm letting them go." He sighed heavily. This obviously wasn't easy for him, but he didn't break down. She would have, had she been in his shoes. She was sure of it.

"I'm so sorry that we couldn't do anything to help them. Our best healers have tried..."

"Dorea, it is alright," he stopped her, one large hand on her shoulder. "It's time to allow them to go. I've been too selfish to keep them here for so long."

She nodded solemnly but dropped the topic. "So, how is teaching at Hogwarts? Still as fulfilling as you have expected?"

"Better," he beamed, "Professor Sprout has given me free rein over all the lessons now and only acts as a support for the NEWT classes. Next year she will retire and I will be her official successor."

"Good to know that at least Herbology remains a subject where the students actually learn something," Dorea replied with a laugh.

"And you? Still the enthusiastic healer?"

"Yep. Most people are assholes, to be honest, but I like helping others and this way I actually undo damage instead of causing more chaos. Unlike Ron," she laughed again.

"Yeah, I've heard about that incident in Paris last year. Didn't go as planned, huh?"

"Nope," she could hardly control her mirth, "Though they managed to repair most of the damage done to the streets, Ron has managed to add his name to the exclusive list of people banned from ever entering France. Must suck for Hermione, she really loves her vacations in the south. But Ron still won't tell me why he had the brilliant idea to incarcerate a necromancer in the catacombs beneath the city..."

Both laughed a bit more before they calmed down again. Dorea loved such moments. Just being around those few true friends she has. Being herself instead of the woman the world wants her to be. The woman the magical world demands her to be. Kingsley had already been quite cross with her when she had defied public expectations and became a Healer instead of an Auror. Apparently, the people don't like it when the powerful witches and wizards surprise them.

There was a small commotion outside of the room, but Dorea paid it no heed at first. Likely just one of the trainees being unhappy about the outcome of their game. They had to separate those hotheads several times in the past few months, so it wouldn't be much of a surprise to see them argue again.

"Uhm… Dorea?"

"Yeah, something wrong, Neville?"

Why was he suddenly acting so strange?

"What did you do this time?" her friend asked, as he pointed at something behind her.

She turned around and within a heartbeat, all amusement and every single positive thought had left her. At the entrance to the small room stood two men, clad in dark robes. Their looks were stoic and their faces contorted into sneers, as they looked at her.

"Neville, maybe you should go and see your parents now. This two gentlemen from the Ministry and I have some unfinished business," Dorea told her friendly calmly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I can handle them."

He didn't seem convinced but trusted her enough to leave. There would be questions later, she knew that. Questions she would answer and answers he wouldn't like. He was a member of the Wizengamot as well, though an inactive one at the moment. He would try to help her, loyal as he is and she would ask him not to. She already knew how that argument would end. He would cave in and feel bad about it. And she would feel bad about him feeling bad.

The two wizards waited until Neville was gone before they approached the only table in the room. One of them sat down, the other took his place standing two steps behind the chair. One to talk, one to guard. They didn't trust her at all. Good, she doesn't trust them either.

"Sit, Ms. Potter," the sitting one ordered.

She complied, only to get this whole mess over with.

"So, back to check my credentials? I already showed all the necessary documents to the last two stooges your department has sent here. This is getting ridiculous," Dorea said. There was no reaction from either man, at least none visible to the naked eye. "Oh, they haven't told you about it. Must suck to be at the bottom end of the food chain."

"This is not a social call, Ms. Potter and you should know very well why we are here. So why don't you spare us the trouble and do as you are told?"

"Enlighten me, why are you here? Just for fun," she glared at the men, causing at the least the one in the back to look away in what might have been shame. If they had any. Those goons from the Unspeakables have neither morals nor do they know restraint. The result of working for the only department that doesn't even have to report everything to the Minister.

"Are you in the possession of any dark artifacts, either on your person, in your vaults or your home?"

Dorea gave him a blank look, that conveys just how much she doubted his intelligence at that moment. "You guys do know that I live at Grimmauld Place? The former home of House Black, before my godfather died and left everything to me? So you ask me about dark artifacts when everyone should know that House Black had a ton of those. And by a ton, we are only talking about the shit they bragged about. I'm not even halfway done finding and disposing of all the shit they have collected. But you should know that I am doing this with the support of the Department for Magical Artifacts, after all."

"We are not here to talk about the misdeeds of the extinct House Black."

"Then why are you here? Just to bother me?" Dorea shot back.

"Let me ask you this. Why is it that Undersecretary Hermione Weasley has recently asked for confidential documents pertaining to dark artifacts known as the Deathly Hallows? And why has she done this after a visit to your house?"

A stream of curses escaped Dorea before she could control herself. Hermione might have had good intentions, but she just couldn't stay the fuck out of other people's business. She should have trusted her and let things go, instead, she has caused this mess. Well done, Hermione. Well done.

"If you know about the Hallows, then I can assume that you also know who they belong to," she asked the men. The one in front of her nodded and motioned for her to continue, "Then you should be well aware that these artifacts if they exist, are the property of House Peverell. Now make an educated guess who is the last living descendant of that family. That's right, you half-wits. I am. Whether or not these artifacts exist, they belong to my family. You have neither the right to ask about them nor the right to claim them."

"This is where you are mistaken, Ms. Potter," the one before her replied coldly. "The Deathly Hallows have been classed as dark artifacts of the worst kind. No one is allowed to possess or study them without our supervision. The control and disposal of such dark heirlooms fall entirely into our jurisdiction."

She laughed coldly at him, "So you came up with a new obscure law to suit your needs? Good for you. Still, doesn't change much about the fact that I don't give a shit."

"We are not here to ask for them. Take this as your first and last warning. You have 48 hours to hand over these artifacts to us or you will be forced to give them up. And believe me, nothing would please me more than to go to that home of yours and tear it down, brick by brick, to drag out all those dark and dangerous things you are hiding from the public to protect your image as their picture-perfect heroine."

"Gentlemen, I would like to say that your visit has been a true pain in the arse, as usual. So please make sure to escort yourselves out of this hospital, before I have to see to it that you are removed," Dorea told them icily, "Next time don't bother with the threats or I will have to exact my right for self-defense."

Both men glared at her but said nothing more as they left. It was better that way. But all Dorea could do now was curse. Herself for all but admitting that she has dark artifacts in her possession. But most of all, curse Hermione for being such a pain in the ass. Had her friend just left her alone, none of this mess would have happened. Now she would have to find a way to fix this before things get out of hand…

Did she even want to fix this, though? This could either be her undoing… or theirs…


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was burning down from above, as Dorea watched the large crowd move through the busy streets of Diagon Alley. Children, all filled with happiness and anticipation were dragging their parents along, as they tried to get all their supplies. The Hogwarts letters had been sent out recently, and now the busiest weeks of the year had hit magical shopping district.

Dorea herself watched the commotion from a little table outside the Ice Cream Parlour, hidden behind heavy glamour spells to assure her privacy. So many years after the war the scars had been all but forgotten and Dorea was glad to see that life had returned to the place that once filled her with so much wonder and excitement.

Even the very place she was sitting now, the Ice Cream Parlour itself, had suffered during the war. The original owner, a kind man named Florean Fortescue, was one of the many victims of the dark lord's mad reign. One of those who had disappeared, never to be seen again. Now the place was open and running again, lead by some cousin of Florean...

Seeing the world now, back to its lively state, was the ultimate humiliation for the monster who had called himself Voldemort. He had murdered, he had ravaged their world, but he had not broken it.

If only she could say the same about herself. Even now she still dealt with the consequences of her experiences. Just by closing her eyes she could see it again, the war-torn world. The empty streets, the destroyed shops and fearful looks of the few people who had dared to venture out of their homes to provide for their families. All just a heartbeat away.

The chair next to her made a creaking sound, as someone sat down on it. Dorea tore her gaze away from the crowded street and looked to her left. The familiar face of her favorite Weasley looked back at her.

"Hey, Ron," she greeted, "Fancy meeting you here." It didn't come as much of a surprise that he would recognize her despite her best attempts to hide. Of all the people in the world, Ron Weasley probably knew her best. Even his own mother had commented more than once that Ron knew more about her than he knew about his own sister, something that Ginny wasn't even angry about. Ron and Dorea had been close as siblings from the very beginning, even though they could fight about the most ridiculous things and often spent entire weeks not talking to each other because of a disagreement.

"Right," Ron snorted, as he eyed her ice cream with great longing.

Dorea laughed, as she pulled her ice cream out of his reach, "None for you. Your mom made sure that everyone in the family knows that you are on a diet, Ron. I really don't want Molly to harass me for giving you ice cream."

He muttered something unintelligible and looked away from her, "Seriously, I am an adult now, I should be allowed to eat whatever I want whenever I want."

"If you fancy sleeping on the couch, go ahead. As far as I know, Hermione is in on Molly's plot to make you slim down," Dorea shot back, as she looked pointedly at his growing belly. "Seriously, Ron, you look like you are the one to give birth to the next member of the Weasley family."

"No way, that's Hermione's job now," Ron blurted out.

It took Dorea moment to realize what her best friend had just blurted out. "Wait a second, is that why she had been so insufferable during her last visit? And why didn't she tell me herself? I am the Weasley family's goddamn healer for these kinds of things, she should have come to me with this!"

She had been the one to help the last four members of the Weasley family to enter this world. The mere idea that her best friend was pushing her away when it was his own first child in question seemed rather ridiculous.

"Well… I don't really..." Ron began to stammer.

Dorea glared at him. Fighting with one of her closest friends was one thing, but this… being kept in the dark was far worse. "Spit it out, Ron."

"It's been horrible this past week. Especially after she had returned from Grimmauld Place. I swear she nearly caused Percy a heart attack when she snapped at him the next day. Not to mention that she's been biting my head off ever since. This is only the beginning of it all and… Rea, I can't survive nine more months of this," Ron whined. "Had I known how bad this would be, I would have asked Kingsley for a long mission in a far away country the moment I noticed something was off, but now I can't without Mione and Mom hunting me down!"

"Ron, why didn't she tell me?" Dorea asked again. It irked her more than it should. She was still angry with her pushy friend, but that didn't mean that she expected to be left out like this.

"Rea, we have only found out about that two weeks ago. You were the first she wanted to tell, but at first, you had been too busy for anyone to contact you and when she finally did manage to ambush you at your home for once, things didn't go as planned. When Mione got back she was really pissed and... well, you kind of ignore all her letters at the moment."

"Right, the letters. Dammit," Dorea cursed. Of course, the life-changing things only happen when she is pissed at her friend and ignores her.

"So, Rea, since my wife doesn't tell me why you two are fighting and likely never will tell me anything about this, I came to see you. So would you please tell me why I am the one being punished when you two are the ones fighting?" Ron pleaded.

Dorea didn't answer immediately, instead, she finished her ice cream, much to Ron's suffering. Maybe it was deliberately cruel to do this slowly and right in front of him, but the kicked puppy look on his face was hilarious to behold.

"Mione caused me a lot of trouble with her meddling." She worded her answer carefully. She didn't want to drag Ron into her mess, especially since he was an Auror and couldn't act against the Ministry, not even a corrupt branch like the Unspeakables, without risking his career. He would stand by her side in a heartbeat, but this wasn't his fight. And with a child on the way, Dorea would much rather see both her friends as far away from her as possible. At least until the entire matter had been dealt with.

"That was not very specific," the redhead deadpanned.

Dorea could only shrug in return, "Mione didn't wanna talk about it, so I won't either. I really don't want to give her another reason to bother me about the wrong things. She has to keep her nose where it belongs."

She desperately searched for something, anything to change the topic of their conversation. As luck would have it, she got her wish, in the form of a small golden ball that rushed past her head. Almost on instinct, her hand shot up grabbed the offending little thing.

"Nice reflexes, Rea," Ron praised, "Still a seeker at heart." Of course, Quidditch would be the perfect way to distract Ron. The sport was omnipresent on his mind and once mentioned, the man just couldn't stop talking about his favorite pastime...

Dorea laughed, as she looked at the Golden Snitch in her hand. It hadn't been very fast, at least not as fast as the one they had used for the games at Hogwarts. And it was slightly bigger than usual. A training Snitch for beginners perhaps?

She looked around, searching for the possible owner of the ball. She found a group of children nearby, just outside the parlor, obviously searching high and low for something. When they saw her with the Snitch, they came running.

"Can we have that back, miss?" one of the children asked quickly.

"Sure. But you better put it back in its box until you are back at your home. You will only lose it here." She smiled fondly at the children. They were young, too young to have seen the war with their own eyes. Lucky them, Dorea thought. Giving them a chance to live a normal and happy life made all her own sacrifices worth it in the end. At least she tells herself that.

"Will do! Thanks, miss," the child replied with a toothy grin before the entire group of children disappeared into the crowd once more.

"I will never understand why you didn't join a proper Quidditch team after the war," Ron lamented, "You could have saved the Chuddley Cannons with your skills, instead they are still at the bottom of the league."

He sulked, as Ron would always do when someone talked about his favorite Quidditch team. His mad love for the worst team in recorded history had been the cause of many jokes before. But to Ron his beloved Cannons are more than just a simple team, that much was clear.

"I had considered it, Ron," she told him honestly, "Especially when Oliver had all but dragged me to a recruitment event for his team. But I just couldn't. It seemed too selfish to do something that makes only myself feel better."

Her friend grumbled again, "Sometimes you are just too bloody self-sacrificing, Rea. And you could have made all of us happier by ending the bad luck of the Cannons!"

He was so obsessed with his favorite team, an obsession she had never shared. She had played for Gryffindor with all the vigor she could muster, but these days she realized that she hadn't done it for the sake of the sport or the sake of her team, but for her love of flying. To enjoy the freedom she could only feel while riding her broom at a breakneck pace… And, later on, to spite Draco Malfoy. Especially after he had bought himself a place on the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"It wasn't meant to be, Ron."

"Come on, Rea, we both know that you wanted it. Even if they had forced you to join Wood's team, you could have been the new star of the sport!"

There is was again, that grumbling and repressed anger on Ron's part. Oliver's team, Puddlemere United was the complete opposite of the Chuddley Cannons and Ron hated them for it. He wasn't the only one who felt this way. Sports rivalries... Dorea had spent one too many nights, nursing fans back to health after post-game sessions of hit the Bludger with bats but without Bludgers.

"I just don't share Oliver's obsession with the game. Or yours," she admitted, "And I am pretty sure that Wood's interest in having me on the same team wasn't just about playing Quidditch."

Ron shuddered as he heard that, "You... and..." he tried to figure it out, but by the looks of it, his brain had short-circuited somewhere halfway through her statement. "That's a revolting metal image, I think I gotta puke," he balked.

She kicked him under the table, "I know I am not exactly the best person to have around since..." she paused a moment to compose herself again, "But that was way too insulting," she hissed.

Ron remained silent after that. She had obviously misunderstood what he had really meant and she realized it quickly enough, but the damage was done. Another one of those awkward silences that were utterly painful to endure. There were still way too many things they wouldn't speak about

And what was he supposed to answer? He had never been the most tactful person and he knew that he had once more put his foot in his mouth, but it was too late to pretend it never happened. And what did she expect him to say? That everyone had known that she was broken, but they were all too busy giving her space to do something about it?

No, Dorea knew it wouldn't be fair to judge them like this. They all had suffered and lost as well. Ron had lost a brother and all of them had lost friends. Didn't change the fact that she had been left alone with her own demons, though. In the end, she put herself back together, without their help. Healing others had healed her as well, something that none of her friends could ever hope to understand.

"You know what, I've gotta run. Places to be and all that," Dorea suddenly blurted out. It was a lie, but she just wanted to get away and be alone for a while. Yeah, because she spends so little of her free time alone these days…

"Rea, wait!" Ron called after her, but she ignored him and disappeared in the crowd. He tried to hurry after her, but by the time he reached the part of the Alley where it was possible to apparate, she was already gone. "Damn," he cursed, "Mione is going to kill me for this."

* * *

Dorea, meanwhile, arrived at the one place where no one would expect her to go. Hogwarts, or more precisely, the lonely grave of the former headmaster Albus Dumbledore. All her friends knew by now that her relationship with the man had been strained at best, so none of them would expect her to visit his grave. Ironically enough, being near the man now was the best way for her to be left alone. Even dead the headmaster continued to influence her life in ways no one could have foreseen.

The White Tomb of the late headmaster looked bright and glistening in the summer sun, especially with the backdrop of the Black Lake and its dark water. There was no other person to be seen, as she had expected. No one came to visit at this time of the year. The students wouldn't return to school for another seven weeks and even the teachers were not at the school at all times.

It was almost eerie how quiet it was, as Dorea reached the tomb itself and placed her hand on it. The white stone was in pristine condition once more, free from any blemish and the destruction Voldemort had caused when he had come to steal the Elder Wand.

Dorea herself had returned to the grave twice before, each time opening the tomb to return the cursed wand to the one man who should have kept it for all eternity. Each time the wand returned to her, stubbornly refusing to abandon her side. Each time she had taken a long look at the dead headmaster, the man who had been both a good as well as a bad influence on her life.

Once upon a time, she would have called him a grandfatherly guide, but after finding out about all his machinations and plans, resentment came all too easy. He hadn't done any of it out of malice, but for the greater good of their whole world, but still... forgiveness is never easy.

Coming to terms with the role Albus Dumbledore had played in her life had been part of her own healing process. At this point, she could understand why he had done it, though she couldn't bring herself to forgive him...yet. She had an eternity to ponder this further, so maybe one day she might find it in herself to forgive him.

"Why do I keep coming back here?" she wondered, "I should visit the castle or maybe Hagrid not the only grave at the school… Way to go, Dorea, you've become a morbid weirdo..."

She looked towards Hogwarts in the distance. The castle looked as magnificent as the first time she had laid eyes on it, some fourteen years ago. It had been her home, her sanctuary, and her torture chamber. So many fond memories and so many grueling ones as well.

Dorea's tranquil moment was soon brought to an end by the arrival of another person. A fair-haired woman in very elaborate robes made of dark silks. She looked quite out of place, as she moved past Dorea and towards the tomb. Once there, she placed a single white daffodil on top of the tomb.

Not wanting to intrude, Dorea was about to leave, when the woman spoke to her.

"It's quite odd, you know, caring about the passing of one specific old friend when you've already lost so many others. Time is not our friend, even though it does not ravage us as it does others."

Dorea was confused. Just what was this woman talking about?

"I'm not sure I understand," she admitted.

"Immortality, my dear, is as much a curse as it is a gift. It gives you the chance to experience a hundred lives, but it also breaks your spirit each time by stealing everything you hold dear."

A feeling of dread overcame Dorea, as she heard this. Just how does this woman know about her condition? Was she another Unspeakable, here to make more not so subtle threats? They certainly know that she has the three Deathly Hallows, so it wouldn't be too surprising for them to have figured out that possessing all three comes with the unwanted gift of immortality.

The woman didn't wait for a reply and continued, "Albus had been a good friend and a very attentive student of my husband," she sighed, "Such a delightful mind, open and curious. He had almost been lead astray, but did the right thing in the end, even when it had cost him dearly."

"Who are you?" Dorea demanded to know.

Just who was this woman? Her little story would suggest that she had known the headmaster when he had been a mere student. But the woman didn't look any older than her mid-thirties. Was she another immortal? How? Why here? Why her?

The woman turned towards Dorea and studied her with a keen gaze. Her pale green eyes lingered longer than Dorea was comfortable with.

"My name, dear one, is Perenelle Flamel. But you might be more familiar with my husband Nicholas."

Flamel! Nicholas Flamel, the creator of the Philosopher's Stone. But… Dumbledore had said that the Stone had been destroyed at the end of her first year at Hogwarts. The headmaster had told her that the Flamels would die without the constant use of the Elixir of Life. How much Elixir had they stored, to survive for more than a decade without the Stone? Or maybe the effect of the Elixir lasts much longer than any other potion… So many questions, but no answers.

"You look confused, my dear," Perenelle said. The woman approached the stone bench near the tomb and sat down. She patted the place next to her, "Sit with me and I try to explain some things to you."

Dorea did as she was told, albeit reluctantly. And even after she had sat down, she made sure to keep as much distance to the ancient witch as possible.

"Now then, do you have any questions about immortality?" Perenelle asked.

One? She had hundreds of them, the most important of those being how she could get rid of this curse. She really didn't want to watch everyone she knows and loves wither away and die while she remains youthful.

"How do you know about me being immortal?"

Perenelle smiled benignly at her, as she stared at Dorea for a long moment. Eventually, she answered with a small laugh, "The Peverell blood in your veins is a telltale sign, my dear. I once knew your ancestress, Iolanthe Peverell. You wear her face well, though your eyes are all wrong. Her eyes had been the brightest blue, yours are as green as an emerald. And of course, Iolanthe told me about her heirloom and the others."

That was quite a surprise. She had seen Iolanthe Peverell on the Potter family tree which had been stored in her family's vault at Gringotts, but she had not expected ever to meet someone who had met the last Peverell in person. But the Flamels are really ancient, so maybe this shouldn't have surprised her as much...

"And how are you still alive? Headmaster Dumbledore told us that he has destroyed the Philosopher's Stone."

Perenelle laughed again. It irked Dorea that her question seemed to amuse the witch as if she was a foolish child asking obvious questions.

"Albus has certainly destroyed a stone. A little red one, I believe. Nicholas actually found it at a shop in Singapore some thirty years ago. A few hours of target practice with low powered curses and it radiated this wonderful feeling of powerful magic. Albus never found out about our little… ploy."

"That is… unexpected. Even Voldemort believed it to be the genuine article," Dorea replied.

For a moment she tried to imagine the look of outrage on the monster's face, had he managed to steal the stone only to learn that it was absolutely worthless. But this also meant that she had risked her life and the lives of her friends for absolutely nothing… just her luck.

"So what now?" Dorea finally asked. "What will you do with the knowledge about my... condition?"

"Now, my dear, you need to make a decision. I can offer you all the knowledge you seek and more, but that will come at a price."

"What price?" Dorea demanded.

Perenelle laughed once again, "An eager one I see. As expected, Iolanthe was the same, though she had been my teacher, not the other way round. And the price, dear one, is one you have to pay either way. Your life." The woman's insufferable smirk only widened, when she saw the look of genuine shock on Dorea's face. "You won't die, my dear, that should be almost impossible by now. Death does not release its champions so easily. But your life as Dorea Potter must come to an end."

This did nothing to alleviate the feeling of dread that had grown within Dorea's chest. Giving up her life, could she really do that? What about her friends, her family? What would the magical world do should she just disappear? The Daily Prophet would have a field day, accusing her of all the evil in the world and more, just for not being where they expect her to be.

"I don't know what to say," she almost stammered.

Perenelle used this moment of shock and moved closer on the bench, close enough so she could put her arm around the younger woman's shoulders and pull her into an almost motherly hug.

"It is never easy, Dorea."

Dorea stiffened a bit, both due to the surprise of the woman touching her and hearing Perenelle say her name for the first time in this conversation.

"We have watched you for some time, my husband and I, and let me tell you, everything will change very soon. We are not the only ones who know your secret and there are powers at work that don't want anyone to be immortal. They will strike, it is inevitable. But seeing your struggles and your growth, I can't deny that I've grown fond of you. Let me help you, before those who can only harm try to get you."

"The Unspeakables… would they really dare to attack me? Are they really that bold?"

"They are. But they are not the only ones. Your achievements have gained you may enemies. Envy is a beast that grows with every day and there are many who just wait for an excuse to strike at you."

"But... So far I've only had trouble with the Unspeakables and they don't even know about my... condition. They just want the Hallows..."

"That will change, my dear. Us Immortals are never safe among those who chose to meet the unknown with fear and suspicion. Your enemies will be the first, but even those close to you will start to wonder just how much your immortality has changed you. Eventually, distrust will win out, especially in this flawed society of wizards and witches."

Hermione's reaction came to mind. Dorea couldn't deny that her friend's reaction to finding out about the Hallow's side effect had been less than promising. Hermione didn't mean her any harm, she would only try to help, but Dorea wasn't foolish enough to delude herself that her friend would sooner treat this unnatural condition like a curse that needs to be purged. All to help a friend in need, even if said help is both unwelcome and damaging.

"But I can offer you a chance to get away from everything before it comes to that. All you have to do is accept my offer and give up on Dorea Potter," Perenelle told her with a soothing voice, "The choice isn't easy, but soon you will lack alternatives."

Her worry grew even more, as she listened to Perenelle's warning. The two days the Unspeakables had given her to hand over the Deathly Hallows were nearly up and she had tried to avoid thinking about the consequences of denying them. She wouldn't budge, but that didn't mean that she wasn't worried about the potential consequences of her choice.

"I can't just run away from everything," she decided finally. "If need be, I will fight for my life." And she wouldn't hesitate. She was sick and tired of being everyone's punching bag, should the Unspeakables try to force her, she would teach them why Voldemort had learned to fear her in the end.

Perenelle seemed disappointed by this choice, as she looked sadly at Dorea. "Foolish. A bit admirable, maybe, but clinging to your current life will only end in tragedy. But no matter, it's not like our time in this world is running out or something. You will change your mind."

Dorea wanted to rebuke her but found that she couldn't. One day she truly might accept Perenelle's deal, it's not like she would be selling her soul to the devil… right? But she wouldn't give up being Dorea Potter at the first sight of new problems. She had won a war for the right to live a peaceful life and now she would defend that right if she had to.

Deep down, however, she just felt tired of it all. Always fighting, always struggling against one enemy or another. Giving up who she is might be too much at this point, but leaving all that makes her feel miserable behind might actually be a good idea. Dorea Potter is a damaged entity, burdened by too much bad blood and sad history. Yet it is also the life her parents and her godfather had died to protect...

"I will leave you here, my dear. But before I go," she stopped and pulled out a small pendant from the folds of her robes. "A little gift for you. Should you feel the need to escape, take the pendant in your hand and focus your magic on it. Someone will come to pick you up and bring you to me."

"You won't come yourself?" Dorea asked as she looked at the pendant with undisguised suspicion.

Perenelle laughed again, "No, my dear. I will be gone from here for some time. A century, maybe, depending on how things proceed. But I do hope that it won't take a century before we will meet again." A look of longing passed over the old witches face, as she raised her right hand to caress Dorea's cheek. "I lost Iolanthe once, I won't lose her last descendant now." She let out a wistful sigh before she turned around and walked away.

Moments later, Perenelle was gone. Dorea had no idea where the woman had went and what she would be doing, but the questions she had left behind would bother her for a long time.

"Time to go home, before some other weirdo shows up to make my head hurt," Dorea muttered before she apparated back home.

* * *

As Dorea was left behind to ponder her situation, Perenelle returned to a small mansion near the sea. She felt tired, almost as if the many centuries of her life were trying to catch with her at long last. A small sip of the Elixir would make her feel better.

First, however, she had to find her husband. Nicholas would need to hear of her encounter with Iolanthe's heir.

She found him outside, on a balcony. He was watching the sea, though his mind seemed far away again. How often had she found him like this, pondering the mysteries of their existence and the seemingly impossible task that had been presented to them when they had been mere children themselves.

"Nicholas!" she called out to him. He acknowledged her presence only with a hum, but otherwise, he didn't move to greet her. "I've finally been able to approach her undisturbed."

"Is that so?" he mumbled, "But she isn't here with you."

"No," Perenelle shook her head, a look of disappointment on her face. "Dorea has still not given up the fight, even though this world is no longer her own."

Not everything had worked out as she had planned, but the seed had been planted. That's what counts. Soon enough Dorea would come to her and then they would be able to complete the plan Iolanthe had hatched all those centuries before.

"Give it time, Penny, she will come to us sooner or later. A few more decades won't matter in the greater scheme of things," Nicholas assured her. "She will come to terms with her situation and then she will come to us."

"Maybe, but let this old woman hope that we won't have to wait for too long," Perenelle sighed, "But how did things proceed on your end?"

"Very well, in fact. The manse in Lys is ready for us to return. The servants have taken good care of it in our absence. It will be good to spend some more time back home. It's been far too long," Nicholas said with a wistful smile.

"Yes," Perenelle agreed, "Far too long. It's time for us to go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that the beginning of the story does seem a fair bit darker than the canon events after the war. But I've decided to give Dorea a much more realistic view of the world and someone who has gone through a war, hunted and shunned, does not survive it all without scars. Both emotional and physical. This won't be a doom and gloom story and I have no intention to portray Dorea as a fragile, angsty woman. Neither is she an idealistic fool. But she has seen war and understands what it means to sacrifice, something that is very important when she enters a world where ruthless men like Tywin and Aerys are those in power.
> 
> So, next chapter Perenelle will get her wish in some way. Dorea's journey in Westeros will begin, as her life in Britain comes to an abrupt end.


	3. Chapter 3

A week had passed since the unwanted visit of the Ministry stooges, without any sign of their agents' return. At first, Dorea had been antsy about the deadline that was given to her. All she other wanted was to live her life in peace. That group of arrogant assholes would never give up, though, and her own pride would never allow her to give in to their demands. In the end, she did nothing and waited for whatever consequences her defiance would bring.

The first deadline came and went. Then three more days followed. Before she knew it, a whole week had passed without incident. Empty threats, nothing more. Dorea wanted to laugh at her previous worries, but after a busy week of work and little time to relax, she was sure that nothing would happen to her this time.

Well, except for the prospect of dying from too much work and too little sleep, not that this was anything new for her. Dorea had found her rhythm, her balance for work and life, and for once she was satisfied. The constant sleep deprivation was just a downside she had to accept.

Becoming a healer had been a spur of the moment decision to her but after six years of doing it, she had truly found her calling. Helping others had healed her as well. Ron was happy being an Auror, Luna was happily working for her father's weird newspaper and Hermione… Hermione just excelled at being herself. A perfect Ministry hive queen with countless work bees dancing to her tune, while she tries to forcefully change a society that had not changed in centuries.

Years ago, when she had been a student in school, becoming an Auror had been a career Dorea had fancied. But after fighting a war and barely surviving it with all limbs intact, she had done her part in fighting the darkness. Her new path suited her in ways she hadn't believed possible.

She would never forget the look on Poppy Pomfrey's face when she had asked about how one becomes a healer. Her, Dorea Potter, a regular inhabitant of Hogwart's hospital wing, walking talking disaster magnet, becoming a healer herself. It was kind of poetic in a sense. And the school healer had been more than happy to show her the way and introduce her to the right people.

Life was good, for the first time since… oh well, ever. And Dorea dreaded this feeling of contentedness. Every time she was happy, her Potter luck would cause her trouble. And even this time, it would be no different, she was sure of it.

Perenelle's words would not leave her alone. They haunted her day and night, both awake and in her dreams. The looming threat of the Unspeakables was still there, even though they had not shown themselves ever since those threats had been made. Yet deep down, Dorea was sure that any happiness she had wouldn't last. Not here, not in Britain.

A plan was needed. An escape plan. Just in case... well, knowing her luck, she would need it soon. And though it was almost too painful to admit it aloud, she would likely never return once she has made that first step. At least not in the lifetime of her friends here...

One of the most recurring nightmares she has these days is one of herself, a century in the future. A young looking Dorea Potter, who stands before the graves of her friends and loved ones, who have all grown old and died. Perenelle had been right about one thing for sure. Immortality is a curse...

Maybe researching the curse first would be the better idea. And she actually had a good idea of where to start looking for answers...

"That is absolutely out of the question!"

"Do we really need to argue about this every single time I'm here?" Dorea asked as she glared at the man before her.

"Absolutely out of the question!" the man repeated. "The managers have..."

"I don't care about your bloody managers. We went over this during my last visit and the one before that as well. Since you have so obviously decided to be an obstinate waste of space, you will go and get me my account manager. Otherwise, I will see to it that there will be one less wizard working at this bank. The goblins would surely love to be rid of you!"

As if there had ever been any doubt. Even after the war with Voldemort, the number of wizards and witches working at Gringotts had remained at an all-time high, due to many goblins leaving Britain for greener pastures. Those goblins who had remained in Britain and the bank were none too pleased about this. To them, it was their bank and every human working at Gringotts was one too many. Without human customers, there would be no business for the goblins, which is pretty much the only reason why wizards and witches are even allowed into the bank.

Oh how much she hated the necessary visits to the only bank in the magical part of Britain. The service was horrible, the employees were unfriendly and the wait times... don't get her started on those. If she wasn't immortal, she would have already grown old and gray before ever getting into the vaults she had inherited from her family. Not that there was much left inside of those. She had made it a habit to take large sums of Galleons with her, every time she manages to get into one of her vaults. Just in case the goblins decide to be assholes again.

"This is..."

"What is the meaning of this commotion?" the unmistakable snarky voice of a goblin asked.

Dorea actually grinned, when she saw the pint-sized, long-eared bugger and his annoyed frown.

"Head Goblin Ragnok, how good to see you again," she greeted the goblin cordially, "I believe I must file a complaint about your service with the Department for Coin and Commerce at Ministry. This man here denies me access to my vaults."

The goblin grumbled something she didn't quite understand before he merely made a dismissive motion with his clawed hand. The wizard, now pale and visibly uncomfortable, retreated hastily. She was sure the man would be punished, not that she minded it in the slightest.

"You will be the death of me, Ms. Potter," Ragnok growled, "You should be well aware that the current manager of the bank sees you in a less than favorable light and has given strict order to keep you away from the lower vaults."

She chuckled darkly, as she heard this. Another idiot trying to make her life difficult, why was she not surprised. Oh well, in this case, she could actually understand the reason. The last time she had visited the lower vaults she had caused havoc with a dragon and destroyed Gringotts property. They had officially forgiven her, for a paltry sum of gold as reparations for the damages she had caused. And because she had freed them from Voldemort's bigoted followers. Despite everything, though, the marble floor on the main floor of the bank was still cracked and would never look as nice and shiny as it once had.

"Unless you hide another dragon down there, I doubt that the events of my last visit shall repeat," she replied with a mocking smirk.

"Let us hope for the sake of our future relations that this was just a joke." The goblin looked at her with a dour expression. He obviously did not share her idea of humor or any form of humor for the matter.

"So, will you let me access my vault in the lower levels or do I need to file that complaint?"

She didn't shy away when the goblin looked at her with a withering glare, his mouth slightly ajar, revealing his crooked teeth. It was easy to understand why many wizards consider goblins to be hideous. But she had stared down a dark lord, so a goblin in a foul mood looked almost cute and cuddly in comparison. Almost...

"I shall accompany you, together with an armed guard," the goblin grumbled. "You will not be allowed to leave our sights..."

"Except when I am inside my own vault. Yes, I already know the drill," she replied.

Ragnok grumbled some more, but he finally relented and lead her down the path towards the vaults. Two more goblins, both armed with halberds, followed some steps behind them. For a moment she wondered idly whether or not these weapons could even kill her in her current state. She had survived much worse already and for all she knew about the curse of immortality, the goblins could likely skewer her without striking a killing blow.

But she wouldn't risk it. It wouldn't be worth the trouble. And the morbid nature of her own fascination with her curse was quite unsettling.

The cart ride to the lower levels was a blast, as always. Ever since her first visit, these rides had been the favorite part of every visit to the bank.

"This is the end of the network," Ragnok growled behind her, as the cart they sat in came to an abrupt stop, deep down in the lowest levels of Gringotts' cavernous underground.

"This doesn't look familiar," Dorea said, "I thought I had seen the lowest levels when I was here to see the Lestrange Vault."

"You mean when you came here to break into a secure vault like a common thief," Ragnok grumbled.

"I doubt there is anything common about me," she japed, "And I did it for the greater good, Ragnok. All for the greater good."

"Property damage that you wouldn't be able to pay off in several lifetimes of work, the destruction of defensive spells and protective wards on sixteen different levels of the underground caverns, theft of a dragon, rampaging through the bank on the back of that dragon and the injury of dozens of employees. Not to mention the damage our Bank's reputation would have to deal with, should anyone ever find out about this! Excuse me when I say this, but your greater good is a large pile of Centaur dung."

Dorea laughed, as the angry goblin continued to rant for some time more. The goblins may complain and curse her name, but they were also one of the few groups that were actually grateful for what she had done. Rants and ridiculous security measures aside, they knew that they would have lost everything, had Voldemort won the war. And they showed their gratefulness by neither suing her nor demanding more than a paltry sum for the damage she had caused. That alone already made them better people in her mind than most of the wizards and witches she had encountered so far.

"We are here, Secure Vault 9231," Ragnok announced.

Dorea gulped, as she looked at the closed door of the Vault. The goblin went ahead to open it, as she pondered whether it was such a good idea to come down here. The Vault of Hardwin and Iolanthe Potter, a relic of a distant time, left behind by her ancestors. There wouldn't be any great treasures down here. According to the family ledgers she had found in her grandfather's vault, some ancestor had plundered all the riches from this vault a few generations after Iolanthe's death. Judging by her ancestor's later fate, he had oh so wisely invested all the gold in enough wine to drink himself into an early grave. It didn't matter, though, as she had more than enough money thanks to her grandfather's foresight and careful planning.

This wasn't about riches... this was about knowledge. Among the unsalable things left behind were personal texts and books that had been far more common in the past than they are these days.

"Hurry when you are in there, time is money and being with you means wasting both," Ragnok growled at her, as he walked away from the now open door of the vault.

She was surprised by how small the place really was. The Lestrange Vault, which couldn't be far away from this place, was almost three times, no four times the size. But all she could see there was a small room, illuminated by a large crystal chandelier, with one wooden table and a chair. A few books and a rolled up parchment were on the table, together with a gilded feather and an inkwell that had dried up centuries ago. The solid gray walls, cast in a bluish light by the chandelier, looked oppressive all around her. She certainly wouldn't be spending more time than necessary.

She could have sworn that the dark walls around her were moving closer with every passing moment, but that might have been just a trick of the unnatural light in the vault. But one thing she did not imagine, the dreadful cold. It seeped into her very bones, chilling and unnerving, as faint voices brought back the most dreadful voices she could remember.

Was there a Dementor in this room? She had her wand in hand, as she searched every corner of the room, but she found nothing of the sort. She was the only living being inside of this tomb-like place.

Dorea knew that she had to get out of this vault. Quickly. But not without finding anything of use.

She had a look at the books on the table first. Three were there, all written in different languages. One in Latin, one in Greek. She couldn't read either of them but decided to take them with her. She would find a way to translate them... later. And the third, she didn't recognize that language at all. Maybe she should find someone to help her with this.

Hermione came to mind, but Dorea quickly shook her head. After the trouble her friend had caused her before, she wouldn't involve the bossy woman even more in this mess. Helpful or not, these kind of secrets are better not shared. Not even with the closest of friends and family. She had learned this lesson by now.

She shuddered, as a strangled scream seemed to echo in the room. But as she looked around, she neither saw the source nor did any of the goblins come to investigate. Far from it, she could still hear their derisive chatter outside. They even spoke English, so she would understand all the unflattering things they had to say. It wasn't about her in particular, but rather a mess of every prejudice and insult towards wizards and witches they knew.

"Better get this over with," Dorea muttered, as she continued.

She unrolled the parchment, which had been placed next to the books. Thankfully it was written in English, albeit a very old form of English that was nearly as hard to read as the books. But she managed to decipher some of it.

" _Beware the cursed death and end of all. Darkest day and coldest night, when the fires of the fourteen are cast aside..."_

Just trying to figure out what this was about made her head hurt. Not to mention that her thoughts turned ever darker, the more time she spent in this vault... no, this tomb.

Neither the books nor the parchment had yielded any immediate answers. She had hoped for some clues or obscure knowledge about her Deathly Hallows problem. The Cloak of Invisibility had become a Potter heirloom when Iolanthe Peverell had married Hardwin Potter and even Perenelle Flamel had mentioned Iolanthe during their conversation. Now she would have to wait until...

"Finish up in there, time is money," Ragnok called from outside of the vault. He was eager to be rid of her it seemed.

But it didn't matter. Another cursory glance around the vault revealed nothing else of interest, so she just took the parchment and the books, shrunk them and placed them in the bottomless bag she always carried on her belt.

She turned around and left, not looking back until the door of the vault was sealed shut once more. She wouldn't return, that's for sure. The oppressive feeling was not something she would want to subject herself to again.

"Are we done here?" the goblin asked, as he looked at her with an expression that was either his way of showing loathing or just simple boredom. It was always hard to tell with goblins because they loathe boredom.

"Almost. I just want to collect some money before I leave, so please take me to my usual vault," Dorea replied with mock cheerfulness. The gloom still weighed on her mind, but she wouldn't show such weakness in front of Ragnok and his guards. Only when their backs were turned towards her, she allowed herself to shiver, to get rid of the urge that had plagued her from the moment she had stepped out of the vault.

Half an hour later she was back in Diagon Alley, her purse once more filled to the brim and the ever-growing desire to visit her remaining friends and family. That cursed vault and its dark whispers... just seeing them all, safe and sound, would do wonders for her continued sanity.

But it was already getting too late to go and visit Teddy. Not to mention that she was still not back on speaking terms with Hermione. Not until her bossy friend realizes that she had overstepped a lot of boundaries. So the Weasleys were out, too. Neville was already back at Hogwarts to prepare for the coming school year and Merlin alone knows where Luna and her husband have ended up on their latest excursion to find obscure magical beasts all around the world.

Begrudgingly she had to accept that her visits would have to wait for another day. Maybe she would even take a trip to Hogwarts. Seeing Hagrid and Headmistress McGonagall would be nice. But for the moment, she would probably just buy something to eat, before she goes home for a good and long night of sleep. She hadn't had one of those in a long time.

* * *

It was quite late when Dorea finally made it back home. Her quick stop in the Leaky Cauldron had turned into a somewhat happy reunion with several other friends from school. She had almost forgotten that Hannah Abbott, now Hannah Longbottom, was the current boss of the pub, so it came as a surprise when she met not just her, but also several other former Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girls at the locale.

It was a nice surprise for sure. Only happy talk, about friends and family. Who married who, who has children and all the latest gossip that came with it. None of them talked about work or the past, which was a godsend. For a night she was just one of the girls, something she had not experienced very often during her time growing up.

It was well past midnight when Dorea finally got home. She ready for the furious greeting of the old lady for being out so late, for living alone as an unmarried woman and most importantly, for having less than absolutely pure blood... But instead of the usual shrieking and cursing of mother dearest, as she had taken to calling Walburga Black, she was met with utter silence.

The door had still been locked and all lights had been switched off, but something else was different. Something was missing. Not just the shrieking, but also the reassuring feeling of Grimmauld Place's heavy wards. Instead of the shield that promised protection from all ills of the world, there was only the coldness of the empty rooms.

Constant Vigilance! If there was one thing Moody had taught her, it was to always expect the worst in such situations.

Her wand was quickly in her hands and protection charms were cast. She had learned quite a bit about hiding herself through magic during the war, so masking her presence wasn't much of an issue. But she hadn't fought in over eight years and fear was slowly taking hold of her. Would she still be able to muster the will to fight to the bitter end if necessary?

She proceeded slowly through the hallway, peeking into every room she passed. But there was nothing. In the kitchens she found Kreacher. The old elf had been stunned and left behind. She sighed in relief when a quick medical scan revealed no wounds or curses. Only a Stunner. But that also meant that someone had entered her home uninvited. And that angered her more than she would have thought possible.

Anger slowly overtook her initial fear, as she resumed her search of the house. The basement had been just as abandoned as the ground floor, though someone had clearly been snooping through her potions lab. Carefully sorted and stored ingredients lay strewn across the floor and potions she had created for emergencies had been opened and spilled.

She continued her search on the first floor. Again nothing, except chaos in the bedrooms. Someone had been searching for something and they had not been subtle about it.

Her search continued until she had reached the floor that housed her own room. The topmost floor, where Sirius and his brother had lived.

"Found one!"

"Good, that leaves only two more. The bitch likely has the wand with her, so that only leaves the stone. Tear this place apart if need be, we mustn't allow this budding dark lady to possess such powerful artifacts! And take everything you find that can be used to put her behind bars for good."

She almost growled when she heard these voices. As she listened, she was able to assume that there were at the very least three people in her room. Two men and a woman. And it was clear what they were after. The Hallows.

Of course, their supposed leader had been right. She did have the wand with her. And the Resurrection Stone as well. There was barely a moment she didn't have the stone with her, hiding it underneath her robes, where it rests on a chain, nestled between the swell of her breasts. The conservative robes she had to wear at work covered her so well that no one would ever see it there.

But to her anger, the intruders had gotten their hands on the Cloak of Invisibility. Her father's precious heirloom. She wouldn't let them get away with that.

She finished climbing the stairs, crouching down to avoid detection. All intruders were still inside her room, causing havoc as they searched every nook and cranny to find the stone.

Dorea grit her teeth. This was her home, her life that these people are treating like trash. She had no idea who they are – yet, she thought grimly – but she would see to it that they would regret breaking in and stealing from her.

The thieves' backs were turned towards her, as they began rummaging through her clothes, so she could slip into her room unseen. One of the men was working his way through her underwear drawer, chuckling lecherously every now and then. He would be the first to go.

A few hexes, followed by an overpowered stunner took care of the first. By the time he crumbled to the ground in a heap that looked entirely uncomfortable, it was already too late for the others to interfere.

One down, two to go…

"Now look at that. The future dark lady herself spares us the time to hunt her down," the only female intruder spat. "Now do our world a favor and hand over the artifacts."

"You really believe it would be this easy?" Dorea replied snidely.

"No," the woman chuckled darkly, "I believe it is time for you to die. We cannot allow someone as powerful as you to remain outside of the Ministry's control."

She should have known. The peace was too good to be true. Without a proper enemy to unite them, the Ministry has begun to deteriorate once again. Now they were running around like a headless chicken, attacking all they cannot control.

Are Hermione and Kingsley even aware of this? Likely not. They are good people, with the right intentions, but they are only two in a government full of corrupt and incompetent people. No, this reeked more of the foul play she would expect from the Ministry's only unsupervised arm. The Unspeakables… so they had made their move after all. But a kill order, that was unexpected.

"Finally, no more excuses. Potter has been nothing but trouble in the past. My uncle always had it right, she needs to be put away for the sake of our country. Don't hesitate, take her down," the woman ordered.

"I really don't know what stuff you guys are drunk on, but I will not accept your continued attacks on me. Hand over my possessions and get the fuck out or you will be in a world of pain," Dorea promised. She was pissed and this was just about the last straw. She was done with this insipid magical world and its self-destructive government.

"Finally you show your real face, Potter. We have always known that you are the greatest threat to our world. No matter how much you pretend otherwise," the woman spat. "But don't worry, we will make your death look like an accident, for the sake of your friends."

Dorea had enough of the arrogant bitch. No more playing nice, no more pretending to be their heroine. They have turned on her at every chance they got. She had switched roles between heroine and villain so often during her time at Hogwarts, that she just couldn't bring herself to care anymore.

No stunners, no stupid hexes. Only curses, powerful and dangerous. She would bring this to a swift end.

Her assailants reciprocated in kind. Neither side was willing to allow the other to leave this fight unscathed. But there was one thing the Unspeakables had not thought about. Dorea's victory over Voldemort was neither a fluke nor a stroke of luck. She had trained, she had suffered, and she had grown during her time on the run. She wasn't that scared little girl she had been when Hagrid had first introduced her to the magical world…

Her opponents were good, surely seasoned duelists. Some of the many who could have made a difference during the war. Some of the many who never bothered fighting for their world. Dorea was sick and tired of these people. Those who would let children do the fighting for them, only to bitch and moan at the end about the unfairness of the outcome.

The woman was the more vicious of the two Unspeakables and soon enough she was the only one Dorea was fighting, with the man standing back, only adding cheap shots whenever he saw the chance for it. But there were spells even those two did not know. Sectumsempra, Snape's little creation being one of them. It cut deep into the woman's flesh, causing long gashes of blood and parted flesh.

The woman collapsed on the ground, crying out in agony. But even as she lay there, she wasn't willing to give up. Only when Dorea cut off her wand hand with a curse, she finally was done.

"You won't succeed, you damn bitch," the woman spat. "You will burn for this! Uncle Cornelius was right. You and your master have destroyed him and you will not stop until our entire world crumbles beneath your heels."

Dorea regarded her with a sad smile. "So delusional. I have actually studied the laws about home invasion some time ago. Had to, really. We had crashed a party at Malfoy Manor and I just wanted to make sure that old Lucius isn't trying to fuck me over by citing some obscure old laws." And he hadn't. To everyone's surprise, Lucius Malfoy had completely retreated from public life and not made any attempt to regain his lost power. Draco later claimed the Malfoy seat in the Wizengamot, but her childhood nemesis dared not attack her either.

"My colleagues will get you. There will be no safe place for you in this world!" the woman promised darkly. "You are done for!"

Dorea looked up, at the only remaining thief. He looked at her wide-eyed, obviously shocked by the viciousness of her attacks. He wouldn't attack her outright.

"Give me the cloak," she ordered.

The man shook like a leaf in the wind, but despite the orders and rage-filled howling of his companion, he complied and handed over the Cloak of Invisibility.

"Now take your stupid friends a get lost," she barked.

Maybe it was a mistake to let them leave alive. The woman, at least, would most likely not fight for a very long time. Maybe forever, but Dorea didn't really care for her plight. All she wanted was to see them gone. She wasn't some ice cold killer. Even enraged she just couldn't bring herself to do it. She cursed herself for being too weak to do what was necessary for her own safety. But at the very least this meant that she was still better than the monster others wanted to paint her as.

"I'm so done with this world," she muttered before she allowed herself one frustrated outburst of magic. She blew a hole in the wall between her room and the one next to it. Who would have thought that such an act of violence would actually be cathartic... they never taught her that at St. Mungos... Maybe out of fear of the possible property damage.

Dorea realized quickly that her actions on this night will have consequences, though. Dire consequences. She had to leave. Immediately. And maybe she would never come back.

She ran through her house, to collect everything she would need on the run. Whole trunks with potions and ingredients disappeared in her satchel, shrunk and featherweight charmed. The tent she had bought for that camping trip with her friends, which they had postponed at least a dozen time because of work, followed soon after. Books on healing, potions, and other magic. She didn't have the time to be picky, so everything that seemed useful just went along.

Once she was done, she quickly put on some muggle clothes and bound her raven black hair in a low ponytail. Dressed in one of Sirius' older leather jackets, she was finally ready to make her escape. She passed by Kreacher on her way out. The poor sod was still stunned, but she decided against reviving him. She already had seen one devoted House Elf die to protect her, so she really didn't want this grumbling old guy to get caught up in her mess.

Dorea didn't bother to look the door behind her, as she stepped out into London's dark streets. Sirius motorcycle had been parked just outside, ready to be taken out for a spin. Now it would get her away from London and all her pursuers.

She would ride to the coast. To Dover or somewhere close, so she could ride a broom to get off the island. And from there... who knows where her travels might take her. Anywhere was better than this hellhole, that much she knew for sure.

Without looking back, she rode off into the night.

* * *

Her escape ended abruptly, not even two streets away from Grimmauld Place when a spell blasted her off the motorcycle and against a parked car nearby. The car's alarm system howled, as Dorea tried to regain her bearing. Her ribs hurt, but it didn't feel like any of her bones had shattered.

She looked around, the Elder Wand already tightly gripped in her hand. The first thing she saw was Sirius' motorcycle, utterly ruined by whatever spell it had been hit with. All bend and broken, it was hard to tell what it must have looked like before.

Utter hatred rose in her, as one of the few things she had left of Sirius had been destroyed right before her eyes. Then she saw the culprits. Nearly two dozen witches and wizards, all dressed in the same robes as the three she had encountered before.

"For fuck's sake, that's what I get when I try to be a sane and kind person," she spat. She wanted to curse her soft heart. Had she just taken down those three for good, she would have had all the time in the world to escape. Instead, she had allowed them not just to survive, but also to escape. "Stupid Dorea. Next time, no holding back!"

If there ever was a next time.

"Give up, Potter, you are done for!" one of the wizards yelled at her. "Your madness ends tonight! Time to go to your precious headmaster!"

A hail of spells rushed towards her, obliteration her hastily erected shields. Only by jumping behind the car, she avoided the worst of the onslaught. But her cover would last forever. The people in magical Britain may be lazy and unimaginative in most situations, but when it comes to destroying things, they suddenly turn into terrible geniuses.

She kept her head down, as she tried to think of a way to escape. Apparition came to mind, but the moment she tried she could feel the dull ache in her head, which was only caused by wards. This time her enemies had thought of all eventualities. Without a care in the world, the Unspeakables continued their assault on her hiding place, content to just fire away until everything in their part has been obliterated. She even heard them laugh. They were enjoying this delay, likely because it gave her time to regret all her life decisions.

The laughter and chatter of her enemies stopped abruptly, instead of screaming and chaos could be heard. Dorea dared to take a look, as the spells aimed at her came to an end. What she saw came as a surprise. Three white-robed figures had appeared. They had entered the fight, taking the Unspeakables by surprise. Many of the Ministry's goons were out for the count, while others hid or fled. Their entire group was in disarray because of the sudden surprise attack.

"This brings back memories," one of the white-robed said. Judging by the voice it was a woman, though the large cloaks and hoods kept their identities hidden.

"Just like old times. Only this time we have some other black-robed assholes on the receiving end of our spells," another agreed. A second woman.

Their leader seemed to be a man, who barked their orders. "Lene, see to it that Potter gets out of here. Our Lady will not be happy should anything interfere with our plans. Cas, you're with me, let's finish this fight."

The one called Lene suddenly appeared before Dorea. Before she could even complain, the white-robed woman had grabbed her and activated some sort of Port Key. Within moments Dorea was once more out of harm's reach.

They had arrived at some sort of cave. At least it looked like one. It was dark, with the only source of light coming from a series of torches. On the far side of the room was a small structure that gave her the chills.

"Is that..."

An archway, like a portal, with a mist like structure in between. She had seen such a thing before. The memory of it still hurt...

"You may think you know what it is, but you don't," the woman told her.

To Dorea's never-ending consternation, the woman refused to elaborate.

"And who are you?" she pressed on with her questions. The sudden turn of events made her head spin and she really hates it when other people keep secrets from her.

"I serve Lord and Lady Flamel. The Lady had been very concerned with your well-being and had tasked us to keep an eye on you," the woman replied.

Dorea merely groaned. Perenelle Flamel certainly was very similar to Albus Dumbledore. She, too, didn't know the meaning of the word no. At least this time it had saved her from certain doom, but it still raised some very important questions.

She wanted to ask more when an audible crack announced the arrival of another person. The leader of the group had arrived, his hood down, revealing his face for Dorea to see.

He had a rugged look, with black hair and gray eyes. Several short scars decorated his chin and the back of his nose. None as brutal and gruesome to look at like those of good old Mad-Eye, but they were still testaments of a seasoned warrior... and a concerning lack of a proper healer in their group. The oddest thing, though, he did look familiar. Or maybe she had just spied him once, while he was on duty watching her.

"You look like you had your fun," Lene commented, followed by a chuckle, "Nothing better than a good exercise. Gets your blood pumping and all that."

"Not now, Lene. We have only very little time," the man said, as she approached Dorea. "The Cloak, give it to me."

"Excuse me? I've already fought against three assholes to keep my family heirloom, don't force my hand a second time in one night!" Dorea exclaimed, extremely irritated by the man's gruff attitude.

"I have no need for Death's cursed playthings. But those Unspeakables have placed a tracking charm on it. That's why they found you so quickly."

"And how do you know that?" Dorea asked. She didn't buy any of his crap. If she had learned one thing this night, then it was that Mad Eye's constant paranoia might something she should learn herself.

"Oh, let me guess, you caught their leader and beat it out of him, right?" Lene exclaimed, giddy like a child in an amusement park.

"Not now, Lene," the man barked, "Now give it here, so we can get rid of the charm."  
Dorea weighed her options carefully, but no matter how much she tortured her poor brain, she couldn't come up with any better recourse than to obey. So she pulled the cloak from her satchel and gave it to him. "Good. This will take a moment. Their spells are notoriously difficult to dispel. You get ready for your trip. Lene, help her."

"My trip?"

"If you're going to see our Lady, you need to get some other clothes. She lives in a place where your current style of clothing is not... encouraged for women," Lene explained.

"What? She has actually found a place that is even more backward and stupid than magical Britain?" Dorea remarked. Lene laughed, as she pushed Dorea to another corner of the cave, where clothes and other things could be seen.

"Hurry now, and don't complain. Lady Flamel will explain everything once you arrive," Lene insisted.

"And what if I don't want to go to her?" Dorea challenged. "I'm kinda sick and tired of all the people trying to control me."

"You can always go back and finish your fight with the Unspeakables on your terms," Lene's male companion barked from the other side of the room. "We will be leaving in a few moments. With or without you."

"And your ladies orders?"

"She has no need for reluctant followers, fools and ingrates. At least try not to be all of those when you finally meet her again," the man replied.

Dorea grumbled some more but said nothing. This entire situation was so messed up. She really didn't want to go to Perenelle, only to become the pawn in another geriatric fool's plan. Freedom, that's all she wants... but neither her current company nor the Ministry... nor her friends would ever let her have that. Now she had to make a decision. Which bad choice would suck the least in the long run?

Thinking back to the previous hour and her very one-sided fight against the full might of the Unspeakables, that decision was an easy one to make. In a way, it shocked her how easy it was, because she was sure that once she goes through that portal, she might never see her friends and family again.

Shouldn't it be harder to leave everything behind?

"Fine," she relented, "Help me with those stupid clothes. They already look uncomfortable as hell."

Lene laughed, as she went over to assist Dorea. The clothes seemed to be a mixture of a well-worn traveling robe, with a stiff and uncomfortable linen dress underneath. Dorea didn't like it all, and first chance she gets, she would either ditch this stupid getup for something more comfortable or at the very least she would use some charms to improve this stuff.

Judging by the hurried way Lene had forced her into these clothes, time was of the essence, so comfort would have to wait for a little bit.

"I'm done here," the man called out to them after he had finished undoing the tracking charm. "Those unimaginative nitwits at the Ministry have actually learned a new trick or two, quite the surprise."

"Well, we are done as well. So shall we go?" Lene replied.

The man approached them and handed Dorea the Cloak before he walked further towards the portal. "Cas will meet up with us on the other side. She'll use the portal in the forest after she has gotten rid of her pursuers."

"Why does she always get the fun parts?" Lene lamented.

The man sighed, "That's because she is dependable and capable. That was the reason why the Dark Lord had hunted her personally during our war."

"If you say so, you say so," Lene said before she turned back towards Dorea. "Alright, it's time to leave this world behind. Don't worry, you'll be fine."

Dorea still didn't believe even half of the things those two were saying. For all she knew, this might be a trick and this portal is actually another version of the Veil of Death. Wizards and Witches in Britain may be masters of the discipline of applied idiocy, but Dorea really didn't want to find out the hard way whether this was a trap or not.

"And how am I supposed to believe you?" she asked, her arms crossed beneath her chest.

"Lene will go through the portal first. You will follow," the man grumbled. He obviously did not appreciate being doubted.

Suddenly the cave was filled with the telltale sounds of Apparition, as the Unspeakables had finally managed to catch up them. They just didn't understand when to give up.

"It's over, Potter. Give up now and there will be no more need for violence!" one of the dark-robed wizards yelled.

"Lene, go!"

Dorea's gaze shifted from the increasing number of wizards in the cave, towards the portal behind her. She only caught a last glimpse at the hem of Lene's white robes, as the woman disappeared.

"They are escaping, open fire!"

"Get through the Portal, Potter, I will deal with this situation."

"But..." though she had no desire to fight, the idea of having others sacrifice themselves for her sake did not sit well with her at all. Too many had already died for her sake...

Her would-be protector, though, seemed more than a little annoyed by her inability to follow his simple order. So he didn't wait for her response and simply shoved her hard enough, so she stumbled backward through the portal. The last thing she saw was how his protective shield crumbled and how a plethora of spells reigned down on them and the portal.

"Stupid girl. More trouble than she is worth if you ask me," the man grumbled.

The Unspeakables had stopped attacking the moment Dorea had vanished from sight. Instead, they were cussing and shouting. They had lost their target again, this time maybe for good.

"You are under arrest, sir, for assisting a felon escape and for attacking agents of the British Ministry of Magic."

"You all are such fools. You are the ones trespassing and now I have to clean up your mess," he said, as he shook his head in mock exasperation.

Before his opponents even knew what was happening, he had raised his wand and shot a spell at the array of runes which had been placed on the ceiling of the cave for such an occasion. Barely a moment later, the cave was collapsing. Not that he would have seen it. By the time the last lucky Unspeakables managed to apparate out of the cave, he was long gone through the portal. All traces had been removed and the portal they had used was buried beneath enough stones to hide it forever.

* * *

It was calm. So very calm. Dorea had her eyes closed and for a long moment, she did not want to open them at all. She had no idea why, but she was currently lying on a patch of soft grass, with the sun on her face. Birds were singing and nearby she could hear the peaceful gurgling of a stream.

After the stressful last few hours, this place was like balm to her soul. But soon enough she would have to open her eyes and face the world. Oddly cheerful Lene or her grumpy boss would show up and drag her to Perenelle Flamel. She really did not want to meet that woman again. The last meeting had left her with questions and an uncomfortable case of paranoia. No need to repeat this, the outcome was clear either way...

But for the oddest reason, no one came to bother her. She wasn't sure for how long she had just rested there on the grass. No one came to get her. So eventually she did allow herself a peek at this wonderful new place.

It was just as beautiful as it had sounded. She was in a valley, surrounded by high mountains with snow-capped, grey-green peaks. The land looked whole and healthy, with no sign of civilization whatsoever. There were only birds in the sky, no planes or foolish wizards in whatever contraption they had charmed to fly.

"Now this is country," Dorea said. She smiled brightly, as the truth slowly sunk in. This was not a dream. This was most likely not the afterlife or else she would have already been mugged by one or more of the important people she had lost. "So the portal was the real deal after all," she mumbled, "But where the hell am I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Dorea was a whole lot... darker and more aggressive in this chapter. I wanted to show just how much she was actually fed up with the world that she lives in. Everyone is giving her a hard time because they believe she is responsible for all the ill in their world. Even the goblins love to rile her up, though on their part it is more trash talk than actual malice. But no matter where she goes, people treat her differently because of who she is. Depending on the person, she can be savior, enemy, or the one supposedly responsible for a loved one's death. Wizarding Britain has been shown as a very bigoted place, where even the press is more about slander and lies than actual truth. Dorea has suffered the most under these people, in the world that had once been her refuge from her bad childhood home. But now she's done with her old world and all she wants now is a new start. I'm not sure I conveyed that properly, but that was the intention.
> 
> Of course, her escape plan didn't work out, curse that Potter luck for that, and she did not go completely willingly to Westeros, but now she has a fresh start. The question now is simple, will the trouble of her old world follow her into the new one as well? There are portals that connect both worlds, though they are rare and well hidden. The Flamels and their servants obviously know a lot about them and they didn't even consider losing one of the portals much of a loss. Maybe someone will stumble upon another and follow Dorea into this different world. Or maybe something from Westeros will end up in Britain instead...
> 
> Did she take everything she has with her? Not at all. She took a lot of the things she had at home, which includes a lot of money since she didn't trust the goblins enough to leave everything in their care. But neither did she follow that common trope of "I gift all I have to family and friends because I'm the only good and selfless person in this world". But it seems unlikely that Teddy would ever inherit anything. He is the grandson of a female Black. A disinherited female Black. If there was anyone who might get the few remaining possessions of House Black, it would be Draco, the son of the last remaining legitimate Black. No one likes that, but it is the likeliest outcome.
> 
> The Flamel's servants, Lene, Cas, and their grumbling leader, are actually canon Harry Potter characters, though they never appeared in the books in person. Why do they follow the Flamels? Well, some might be able to guess that once you know who they are. One important thing here is that there is a stable and constant connection between both worlds, at least for those who know where the portals are hidden. But these three characters are just a side attraction and will mostly show up in Flamel related scenes.
> 
> So now Dorea is in a new world, in a very peculiar place. The Vale of Arryn, a nice and quiet place to start a journey. The home of knights and ancient Andal strongholds. Much to see and much to experience. Not to mention that in the year 271 AL, there are two young boys at the Eyrie, to be fostered by Lord Jon Arryn. Eddard is a mere eight years old at this time and has just arrived in the Vale. Robert is merely a year older than his soon to be best friend, but both together might be up for some adventures.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorea has arrived in the Vale, the kingdom ruled by House Arryn or more precisely, Lord Jon Arryn, who should be in his fifties at this time in history. Remember, Dorea has arrived in the year 271 AC, the year Ned and Robert came to the Vale for fostering.
> 
> It's an era of peace, in between the last war against the Blackfyre pretenders and the Defiance of Duskendale. The majority of Aerys's time on the throne was actually a time of peace and prosperity until the rot of madness slowly turned a promising king into a mad monster. But this time isn't without troubles...

Peace and quiet. Dorea couldn't even remember the last time she had had so many uninterrupted hours of peace and quiet. She had only been in this mountainous land for a few days, but she already felt years of tire and stress melt away.

Even sleeping outdoors was much more fun this time around. Without a whole nation of idiots hunting her for one reason or another, she quickly came to appreciate this way of life. She knew she would grow tired of it eventually, but she would savor every moment until then.

A steady water supply wasn't much of an issue, with the numerous clear streams that originated in the snow-capped mountains. But food would become an issue sooner rather than later. She had enough food packed in the kitchenette of her magical tent, but even that would last her for one, maybe two weeks. Three if she only eats enough to satisfy her hunger without overindulging.

There were animals all around her. She had seen deer and hares. There were fish in the bigger streams and some of the small lakes she had seen. But the idea of killing and butchering an animal did make her feel queasy. It wasn't the blood or the hard work that she abhorred, but rather the killing and butchering necessary to get food.

It was at this time, away from civilization, with no idea where she is or when she will see another human being, that she realized how much she had taken certain comforts for granted. Food had always been provided for her. The Dursleys had made her cook, but they bought everything necessary. In Hogwarts, the food was prepared by the House Elves and it appeared on the tables without any work on her part. And even after the war, she had Kreacher who had always taken good care of her. Now that he was gone, too, she realized how spoiled she had become. Providing for herself in this new world would be a tough challenge.

She would cross that bridge once she had to.

What she missed the most, however, was her broom. How grand it would have been to soar through the sky and see this beautiful land from the sky. But much to her own annoyance, she had forgotten it at Grimmauld Place. In her hasty escape, she had packed so much stuff, much of it useless trinkets in this world, but the one thing that would have made her time in this new world easier was missing... She had her doubts that she would come across another shop for racing brooms any time soon...

Around midday on her sixth day wandering through the long mountain valleys, she finally saw the first sign of other humans. Sadly though, it was not some quaint little village, she saw, but thick black smoke, rising over some nearby hills. Something was burning and she had a bad feeling that it wasn't just a meal forgotten on the stove.

Her initial trepidation was quickly overcome by the urge to find out more about the origin of the smoke.

"I should have known," Dorea mutter, as she saw what awaited her beyond the next hill.

There was a small village, nestled next to the forest. Most of the buildings were burning, some had already collapsed. There was an attack ongoing. A small band of men, dressed in shabby armor were attacking this settlement of woodcutters. It was utter madness. Like a Death Eater raid, only with a lord more blood...

When she saw the entire scene, Dorea said the first thing that sprung to her mind, "Why am I not surprised, those white-robed idiots have dropped me in some medieval fun time land... And look, it's just as violent and archaic as one can imagine..."

Either the portal she had been pushed through had taken her to a different time in history, or she had been brought to a world that was centuries behind... Neither choice sounded particularly thrilling, but she had no choice but to accept it now.

"I'm so done with other witches and wizards," she grumbled, as she continued her way towards the village.

But what was she supposed to do here? She could intervene. Her magic would surely either defeat her enemies or scare them away. But then what? Was there some sort of Statute of Secrecy she had to obey here? Magic in front of Muggles was a big no-no in Britain. As far she knew other countries had the same or even harsher laws in place to hide their presence from the mundane world. Would she be punished for using her magic too? That would be extremely bothersome... but doing nothing was even worse.

"Help, please!"

More pleas and desperate cries for help followed. Dorea knew that she couldn't just stay away. Hermione had once told her that she had an almost compulsive need to help others, no matter the cost. Maybe she had been right. But what mattered the most to Dorea was her oath as a healer, never to abandon a person in need and help however possible. To wizards, this usually meant only to help their own kind, but Dorea had never been bothered by her people's prejudice, so even a muggle in need would receive aid...

Not that there was much of a choice left, two of the warriors attacking the village had already seen her and came running her way. Their lecherous laughter made their intentions clear.

She pulled her wand out of her sleeve and quickly went to work. She stunned the one closest to her, while the other was blown away by a well-aimed Bombarda spell. They didn't even know what hit them. Luckily, they had been the only ones who had seen her approach to the village.

As she finally reached the village itself, most of the remaining warriors had already left with whatever plunder they had managed to get their hands on. What they left behind was a mess of blood and fire.

Most of the villagers lay dead before their houses, cut open or dismembered by the brutal assault. A sickening sight for sure. She could see a few children, hiding in fear for their lives and a few scattered survivors, slowly coming out of their hideouts now that the attack was over.

There were less than a dozen living souls, but at least four times as many dead...

Another warrior suddenly appeared between the crumbling remains of two houses. He was dressed in an armor made of badly curated animal skins, with rusty chain mail underneath. In his hand, he had a crude ax, with a shaft nearly as long as Dorea was tall.

He ran towards her with a fierce scream, obviously trying to snatch her for himself. His attack, though, ended in the burning ruin of a house, after he had been hit by one of the witch's spells. It was unlikely that he would survive the flames, but any feeling of guilt for his death was quickly overcome by hatred and rage, whenever Dorea looked at the massacre his group had caused.

"Well, three spells and no Ministry spooks. Looks like I'm a long way from home," Dorea said to herself.

If she had been anywhere near a civilized magical society, someone would have already reacted to the first few spells. All magical governments are quick to react to breaches of the Statute of Secrecy, always afraid of being exposed to a world that would swallow them whole and leave nothing behind. That absolutely no one has shown up within minutes of her first spell could only mean one thing. She either was at the arse end of the world... or this wasn't her world at all.

That certainly wouldn't even be the weirdest thing that has ever happened to her since a half-giant had come to her home to take her away to a school for witches and wizards...

"But at least they seem to speak the same language here." The many calls for help and desperate pleas to inattentive gods were proof enough for that. Dorea had no idea how, but these people seemed to speak English, which was quite fortunate for her.

She also knew that she couldn't dwell on all those conundrums for too long. There might still be more enemies around. And even if not, there were wounded in need of her. Those who had survived looked more dead than alive, something that she couldn't ignore.

Behind a fallen cart, that had previously been loaded with heavy logs, lay a man. His leg had been crushed underneath the cart, leaving him in agony. Death was a certainty unless he got help.

"Alys... is that you? Have you escaped them? NO! No, get away from me. Run for the forest. Run and hide. They mustn't... get... you, too," the man mumbled, as he looked at Dorea with clouded eyes.

The shock and the pain had obviously addled his mind. Blood loss was aggravating his condition even further, as the red liquid stained the earth beneath him.

"Hush now, I will help you. Just be calm and take a deep breath," she advised.

She tried to have a closer look at his wounded leg, but the cart was still in the way. The man was too far gone to react to anything she would do, so she whipped out her wand and levitated the cart off his leg.

With the cart gone, the whole bloody mess was revealed to her. The leg had been crushed, just beneath the knee. She could stop the bleeding and reduce the swelling. Knitting skin back together was one of the easiest things for a healer to do. But restoring the bones, now that was a horrid task. Well, for the one who is getting healed that is. She was sure that she had a flask of Skelegro somewhere in her second satchel, the one she had begun to use for herbs and potions when she saw the many familiar herbs growing in this land.

"Now where is that awful liquor," she muttered, as her arm disappeared inside the bottomless satchel. "Aha, there you are hiding." A triumphant grin appeared on her lips as she pulled the heavy flask out.

Adorned with bone-like decorations it certainly looked very grim and intimidating to those who are unfamiliar with it. Luckily the bottle was still completely filled. She had never been forced to use it before, so the bottle had only gathered dusk on a shelf so far. It had been a gift from her mentor at St. Mungos, who had spent so many hours trying to teach her how to brew this vile concoction. Without success, she had to add. Master-Potioneers could brew this stuff with ease, but sadly she wasn't one and the most difficult potions had always eluded her level of proficiency. So when he gave up teaching her, Dorea's mentor just gifted her one of his own bottles with the sage advice to avoid breaking her bones as much as possible. One of the wiser pieces of advice she had been given by her teachers.

Now she was about to give the Skelegro to a random stranger in need. Certainly, her mentor would have found this use just as appropriate.

Once she had treated most of the wounds, she vanished the shattered bones in his leg and coaxed the vile potion into the man. He coughed and nearly spat it out but luckily swallowed after some more coaxing.

"Now I only need to..."

Her thoughts came to an abrupt end when a young boy suddenly appeared with a woodcutter's ax in hand. At first, she had thought it was another one of those strange warriors. She had nearly blasted the boy away, the spell already on her lips. But they both got lucky.

"Get away from my pa!" the boy demanded, his voice shaking even more than his frail body.

"Calm down, kid," she tried to sound soothing. But it didn't reassure the boy, "I'm a healer. I am helping your father."

"A healer?" the boy had a confused look on his face. "Like a Maester?"

Dorea had no idea what a Maester is, but if it is someone who helps the sick and wounded, it might just be the local name for a healer.

"Something similar," she conceded.

The boy did take a step closer, the ax now hanging limply in his hand. He wouldn't attack her. But his eyes were wide when he saw his father's leg. "The cart is gone."

"I had someone help me move it," she lied. Her breath hitched for a moment when she realized why this boy had this ax with him. It wasn't meant for self-defense. "Why did you bring this ax?" She knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from the boy himself...

"Pa said to get his ax. His leg is gone, so we needed to cut it off he said."

What a gruesome thing to ask of a child. She couldn't fault the man, but the idea that a child had to cripple his own father was almost unbearable. Luckily this was no longer necessary.

"Your pa will be alright," she assured the boy. "I treated his wounds. All I need now are two pieces of wood to splint his legs. Can you bring me some?" The boy quickly nodded, "They need to as long as your pa's lower leg and as straight as possible."

The ax dropped to the ground, as the boy rushed away to find the wood needed. His father had finally lost consciousness. The pain of regrowing bones will be easier to bear while asleep.

The ground suddenly shook underneath Dorea, as more than two dozen riders rushed into the village. Unlike the strange warriors, these riders looked much more civilized. Soldiers and militia. Curiously enough, they were lead by several men in heavy armor. Knights. Real, living knights. Now Dorea had seen it all.

One of the knights spotted her and steered his horse in her direction. But the last thing she needed now was more people witnessing her work. Not when more magic might be needed. So she raised her arm and pointed in the direction where the warriors had disappeared. The knight nodded in response, understanding the meaning of her gesture. Then he and his companions rushed out of the village in pursuit of those who had caused the carnage in this village.

She resumed her work on the man before her, making sure that he would not die under her watch. Luckily his situation had stabilized and now he was only slumbering peacefully. As soon as he would wake up, though, he would in a world of pain, until all the bones in his leg have fully regrown. A day, maybe two, and he would be well enough to continue his life unimpeded by his grievous wound.

The man's son returned soon enough with two wooden planks. The boy looked unsure and as unsettled and disturbed as any child would look after such a disturbing experience. He did look relieved, though, when she told him that he had done well and that he had helped his father. Little praise, but in this situation it made all the difference. She sent him to get her the leather straps from the leather harness of the dead horse that had pulled the cart. Once she had everything, she made the makeshift cast, to stabilize the man's boneless leg.

She had never done this before. As a healer at St. Mungos, her patients had always been confined to a bed, allowing the bones to regrow unimpeded by sudden movement. This man did not have that kind of luxury. The village was nothing more than a smoking pile of rubble, so he and his son would have to move somewhere safe. Dorea could only hope that the cast would stabilize his leg enough.

"Stay with your father. Give him some water when he wakes up and when he moves, make sure that he does not try to put weight on the wounded leg," she instructed the boy. He nodded eagerly.

"Thank you," the boy said feebly, as she finally turned away from her first patient to look for others in need of her help. There were many more to find...

* * *

It was hours later when Dorea had just finished treating the burn wounds of a small girl with a salve when the knights returned. The men looked weary and bloodied. Some of them were missing. But they had also been triumphant. They brought a number of young girls and women with them. Hostages freed from their barbaric tormentors.

The girl she had treated rushed off towards one of these women, crying elated tears as she reunited with her mother. It was a bittersweet moment. One child reunited with her mother. Many others had not been so lucky.

She spotted the knight she had seen before. Or rather, he had spotted her and approached her again. Dorea took this moment to study him closer. A real knight, in a real armor. She was used to moving armors thanks to Hogwarts and the Weasley twins' liberal use of the many suits of armor in the castle for their elaborate pranks. But this was the first time she had actually seen someone wear such a heavy suit.

The polished silvery plate she had seen earlier was now dulled and muddied from the fight. The blue surcoat was cut and dirty as well. But the sigil could still be seen. A blue bird, soaring upwards on a circular white background. As he removed his helmet, the handsome face of a young was revealed, with cropped blond hair and brilliant blue eyes.

"Greetings, my lady," he began, as he got closer.

He stopped a good two steps away from her, careful to maintain a proper distance. Dorea had seen this kind of behavior from some of the more traditional students at Hogwarts. They would never get too close to any girl they were not related to. They always said it was improper. Seeing this kind of behavior from a knight in this medieval world was not at all surprising.

She merely inclined her head in greeting but refrained from saying anything until she knew why exactly this knight found her more interesting than any of the other people in the village.

He gave her a once over, as a look of concern grew on his face. "Are you alright. The blood..."

"None of it is mine. I'm perfectly healthy," Dorea assured him quickly, "I just soiled my cloak when I had to carry a young girl away from her burning house so I could treat her wounds."

"So you know your way around medicine?" he asked, his voice betraying his surprise and disbelief.

Dorea only chuckled weakly in response to being underestimated like this. "Well yes. I am a fully trained healer, after all. Dressing wound and treating them with herbal remedies is no magic."

The irony behind her statement actually made her smile. She had used plenty of magic over the past few hours. All to save as many lives as possible. But she had been careful enough not to let anyone see her do it. The survivors only ever saw her use salves, potions, and bandages.

If this world was anything like her own, it would be much safer to keep her magic hidden from the public eye. Who knows what kind of religion these people follow and how bad they might react to a real witch in their midst. The last thing she wanted was a witch hunt with her as the main attraction...

"It's true!"

"She saved us!"

"Leave her alone!"

Several of the children she had helped came running and crowded around Dorea. They positioned themselves between her and the knight, almost as if they tried to protect her from him. It was quite endearing.

"How unusual," the knight commented, "Forgive my rudeness, my lady. I am Ser Elbert Arryn. May I know the name of this outstanding woman?"

"Dorea..." she hesitated for a moment. Even if there was no one around monitoring magic in front of muggles, there was still the possibility that the Unspeakables or other unsavory people might have followed her to this world. Going by her real name might not be the wisest thing to do. "Flamel..."

Perenelle Flamel and her insipid followers had gotten her into this mess, so it only seemed right to use her name during her stay. Even if she did slip up and cause trouble, it would be Perenelle who would have to live with the consequences. And it might help the Flamels and their servants to find her quicker. As far as Dorea could tell, she wouldn't be going home without them.

Elbert studied her once more, with a keen gaze and undisguised interest. Had she slipped up already? Was the name Flamel well known in this world? Good or bad?

She needed to steer the conversation away from her name and whereabouts. A different topic was easy enough to find. Even in such a situation, her sense of duty as a healer wouldn't leave her alone and her eyes quickly found several cuts on the knight's face. She had also noticed a slight limp when he had walked towards her as well.

"If you would allow me to treat those cuts... They shouldn't be allowed to get infected or else the scarring might become permanent," she told him, as she closed the distance between them.

Elbert looked startled at first, but after another look at the children near Dorea and the dressed wounds they had, he did give her words some thought. He was more cautious than the children, though, as one would have expected of a knight meeting a strange woman that asks to have a look at bleeding gashes on his face.

"I have to decline," he said, before he hastily added, "for now, at least. We are pressed for time. The Moon Brothers are just one of many tribes in this region. If one of these tribes has the audacity to raid a village down in the valley, others might follow soon. We need to move the survivors to Ironoaks."

"Such stubbornness," Dorea muttered. Treating his wounds would have been a work of minutes, by if he insists on enduring the pain, she would let him be stubborn about it. "I shall take my leave then."

She began to walk away when Elbert caught her shoulder and held her back.

"It is not safe for you to travel anywhere alone when those mongrels are still around, my lady. Are your traveling companions nearby?" he asked, obviously concerned for safety. It was almost endearing.

It had been a long time since anyone had worried about her safety. To everyone else, including her friends, she was the woman who had defeated the greatest dark lord of all time, so no one doubted that she was able to defend herself. Everyone always expected her to be the strong one, so no one ever worried about her. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be the target of such attention.

Finding a suitable answer to the knight's question, though, was not so easy. A young woman traveling alone... it must sound like a death wish to the people here.

"The people I have traveled with... they got scared and ran off... merchants rather run than fight, you know..."

Elbert's expression darkened, as he thought about the cowards who would abandon a woman to fend for herself against the aggressive monsters of the Mountain Clans.

"Such cowardice, I will have them whipped when we find them!" he vowed.

"No need," Dorea quickly interjected. The last thing she wanted was someone getting punished because of her lie. "Fear makes all of us do things we would never consider otherwise."

"No matter, it is dishonorable," Elbert insisted. "You should come with us to Ironoaks. Maybe your cowardly companions are already there."

"I doubt it," she muttered. Elbert gave her a questioning look, which prompted her to expand her lie once again, "They ran in the opposite direction." She had no idea where Ironoaks was, so she kept herself from pointing anywhere.

Be vague, be evasive, don't give definitive answers. Dorea had never been a good liar, but what choice did she have now? She had already gone this far, she couldn't afford to admit her lies to this man. She would lose all of his trust and likely get into a lot of trouble down the line.

"Ah, you must have been on your way to Gulltown then," Elbert deduced.

Again Dorea had no idea how to answer, as she didn't know that place either. With every passing moment, the need to lie grew greater and her discomfort grew with it. She had to put an end to this conversation.

"I should leave now. Maybe I can still catch up to the others if I hurry," she said, as she removed Elbert's hand from her arm and moved away from him. She really needed to get away and find out more about the land and the people, before she would be able to interact with men like Elbert. Otherwise, her lack of knowledge would blow her cover. But the knight had obviously misunderstood the reasons for her reluctance.

Their conversation had already become the center of all the attention. The knights and the villagers all watched with undisguised curiosity. Some of them were whispering conspiratorially, while others adopted concerned looks.

Was this such a big deal to them? Was her attempt to get away from Ser Elbert something to frown upon? She had no knowledge of this world and its customs. She could only deduce that it was somewhat similar to her own world's medieval era and that women did not enjoy much influence and power. Maybe they just expected her to shut up and do as she was told. But they had no idea who she is and that she wouldn't follow any such demands.

"If you wish for it, I will organize an escort to bring you to Gulltown. Once we have reached Ironoaks, that is. Right now I cannot spare a single man," Elbert replied, still insisting on taking her along.

"Why are you so stubborn?" Dorea muttered angrily.

"No man of honor should allow a woman to endanger herself. Least of all a noblewoman."

Noblewoman? How the hell did he come up with that? She would have to check his head once she gets the chance for a full examination.

"This is getting nowhere," Dorea sighed, "Let's pretend that I am willing to go with you, what exactly do you want me to do at Ironoaks?"

"All I want is to ensure that the survivors of this attack reach a place where they can be safe while my men and I hunt those Mountain Clans down until they can never threaten my people ever again," Elbert declared loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Dorea could see how his mere words seemed to lift the spirits of the people around him. They looked at him with hope and a great deal with reverence. At this moment it was obvious that Elbert was no mere knight. He was either a known hero or someone of great importance to these people. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to follow him for a while. The things she might learn about the land and the people... it might even be worth the hassle to maintain her lie. Not to mention that she really didn't want to get into trouble within her first week in this new world. She might have to live with these people for a long time, so a more subtle approach would be the better choice.

"Fine, I will come with you to Ironoaks. I won't make any promises about staying for long, but if it eases your mind, I will not travel alone for now."

He seemed elated to hear this, as he gave her a small smile. It would have been even more charming, had it not been for his split lip and the small cuts on his cheek.

However, Elbert wasted no time in guiding Dorea to the group of survivors who had gathered near the soldiers. The men had restored some of the wagons that had previously been used for the felled trees to transport the children and the wounded.

The children she had healed still crowded around her, even as she climbed onto one of the carriages. The realization came quickly and the bitter truth was near unbearable. The reason why these children suddenly clung to her was simple and tragic. They no longer had any parents or family to go to, so they stuck with the one person who had shown them kindness...

With a sudden jolt, the carriage began moving. Men followed on foot, as the knights and men at arms took positions all around their makeshift convoy. To Dorea this day had been her first real introduction to the people of this new world... and it had been devastating enough to leave a lasting impression. There were many people in this world that might need her help... and Dorea would help them whenever she could. Some things would never change and just as Ron had put it all those years ago, saving people was kind of her thing...

* * *

"Have you found her yet?" Nicholas Flamel asked.

The old alchemist sat on his cushioned chair, out on a terrace overlooking the lavish garden of his manor. A book lay on his lap, but it was still closed and unread as his busy mind wouldn't allow him the peace needed to dedicate himself to his studies. On the table next to him stood a flask of wine and several glasses. His own had been refiled thrice already.

"I am terribly sorry, master, but Miss Potter remains as elusive as ever."

Nicholas shook his head in disappointment. This was certainly not what they had planned. The events of these past few weeks had spiraled out of control and now he had to pay the price for that. Oh well, at least they knew that the girl was still alive. Albus' little tools to monitor his heroine were quite handy for him now.

But Perenelle would never let him hear the end of it. His wife had warned him. She had insisted that her way of doing things was better. But it was also slower. Too slow. Every moment is precious and Iolanthe's plan demanded absolute surety and preparation.

"Which portals have you searched thus far?" Nicholas demanded to know from his servants.

"Lorath, Ny Sar and Volantis, master. But we have already sent men to Elyria and Essaria as well," the servant answered.

Elyria and Essaria, both portals there were less than stable and shouldn't be usable. Just like the connections on the western continent, those two portals had been hit hard when the magic in this world began to decay and die.

Yet there were three more. Three that not even he himself was keen on checking. Stygai, Yeen, and the Five Forts. None of these places were easy to check up on... in fact, except for the Forts, visiting the other two places was suicide. If Dorea had ended up there, she would be dead already...

"Send a team to the ruins of Sallosh as well. There is still much wisdom to be found in the underground vaults of the ruined libraries. But don't let the Dothraki see you. The last thing we need is those horse mongers searching for more things to steal," Nicholas commanded. "And..."

"Nichols, dear, don't be so hard on our servants. They are doing their best."

Perenelle finally joined him outside. Her favorite pet, that red woman from Volantis, was following her like an obedient dog. Nichols wouldn't dispute that woman's worth, but her near-constant presence still irked him at times. She didn't like him much either.

"Our servants have caused this trouble, Perenelle. Now that Dorea is in this world, we need to find her before she gets into trouble," Nicholas insisted.

"Still, our servants are doing all they can," Perenelle gazed benevolently at the man who stood near her husband. He had proven himself again and again, ever since they had granted him a second chance to redeem himself. "Go now and find Dorea for me. She is Iolanthe's legacy and our best chance to win our fight."

The red woman moved towards the table and poured her mistress a glass of wine, which Perenelle took from her and rewarded her with a kind smile.

"We will not fail you, mistress."

Dutiful as always, Nicholas thought. Of all the servants his wife had brought from their original world to Lys, he was the most valuable.

"I know you won't, Regulus. It's why we brought you back, after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dorea's first introduction to the people of this land wasn't exactly... peaceful. The Mountain Clans are always a threat to small villages and farms, though they haven't posed a serious threat to the Vale in quite a long time. But they are still a menace.
> 
> And the first important character she meets in this new land is Ser Elbert Arryn. He is the son of Ronnel Arryn, Jon Arryn's brother. Seeing as Jon Arryn did not have any children until he married Lysa Tully, Elbert is still the heir of the Vale. In the books, Elbert had been one of the unfortunate people who had followed Brandon Stark to King's Landing, an adventure he did not survive. Sadly we don't know much about his age. His father was the youngest of three children, so he was younger than Alys Arryn. But Alys had been born sometime between 218 and 248 AC. So let's pretend that Ronnel Arryn had been born in the 230s and Elbert in the early 250s AC. For the sake of the story, I will pretend that he is 19 in 271 AC. Fun fact about Elbert, his mother was a Belmore. The Belmores are one of the few noble families in the Vale that had not been of Andal origin. They are First Men, like the Starks.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a bumpy ride, on roads that were little more than stones and dirt. The cart rocked back and forth so much, Dorea considered walking the better alternative, even if it meant that she would have to run after the cart than to sit on it.

The hardships of the day slowly began to take their toll. Her arms and legs felt heavy and her eyes threatened to close again and again. Nevertheless, Dorea fought persistently against the fatigue. Surrounded by so many strangers, she could not afford a moment of weakness and carelessness.

Maybe it was just the paranoia Moody had instilled in her years before, or it was her own mistrust of other people, but even the idea of being vulnerable in the presence of strangers seemed utterly repulsive to the witch.

At least the scenery around was nice to look at. The narrow valley between the high mountains had widened into a large lake district, with large fields as far as the eye could see. And in the distance, she could already see the castle to which they were traveling. With nothing to block her view across the lake, she got a good glimpse at the castle, despite its distance. Ironoaks, a monster of stone that could not even hope to come close to the beauty and grandeur of Hogwarts. She counted six towers of varying size and a large keep, surrounded by a large wall.

"Lady Dorea," Elbert called out to her, "we will soon stop at a village, from there we will only continue on horseback so that we can hopefully reach Ironoaks before nightfall."

Wonderful, Dorea thought miserly. Now she was not only dead tired and dirty, no, but she would also even get a chance to embarrass herself with her nonexistent riding skills. She was good on a broom, but on a living being... that only brought back memories of that one time someone had tried to throw her off her broom by cursing it... ah, happy childhood memories. Riding on Buckbeak had been fun, though she had not repeated that stunt very often. And then there were her desperate attempts not to fall off a flying Thestral... she shuddered just thinking about those creepy horses... And the dragon... she would rather forget ever riding a dragon...

She did not answer the knight, much to his visible disappointment, but continued with what she had done in the hours before. She entertained the anxious children on the carriage with some fairy tales and stories from her own time at Hogwarts.

It was good to relieve the children of their fear and Dorea could distract herself for a while from her own problems. But she also noticed that some of the knights had steered their horses closer to the carriage to listen in and that the other survivors had stopped talking to listen to her tales as well.

She had just finished the entertaining tale of the little Witch, the Phoenix, and the Basilisk when they finally reached the village Elbert had spoken of. A collection of several dozen wooden houses and a few large granaries, surrounded by a nearly endless sea of fields. A farming village, but one with its own small garrison. A stone guardhouse surrounded by a small wall and two towers.

It was not surprising that all the granaries were placed around this guardhouse. The guards themselves were more likely here to protect the silos and not to protect the population. But even so, their presence would deter all but the most foolish raiders. In the other village, many people would not have had to die had they enjoyed similar protection.

The cart Dorea was sitting on soon came to a halt in front of the guardhouse and many men hurried to help the injured and frightened survivors of the car. The children who had clung to her were more reluctant to leave and needed some prodding from her to go, though.

Dorea stayed seated until everyone else had left. Her eyes wandered around, always alert. Old habits die hard after all, which was why she caught herself looking for all escape routes and hiding places around her.

She could not resist a weary laugh as the memory of her first day at the hospital came back. The healer to whom she had been assigned to as an assistant had caught her hanging halfway out of a window in an attempt to determine whether or not the jump from the second floor might be survivable.

Trying to explain her behavior was one of the strangest and most embarrassing discussions since her schooldays. That there had been three more incidents of this kind before Dorea had finally felt somewhat safe at her workplace helped little to win the goodwill of her superiors.

Even now others had spotted her behavior as well, as the guards were just as vigilant as she was. Dorea heaved a heavy sigh, as she realized that Elbert had been watching her all along. His smile was still friendly, but surely he had some questions of his own after spotting her odd behavior.

"Good job, Dorea," she muttered to herself, "Make them believe you are a weirdo."

"Are you feeling alright, Lady Dorea?" Elbert asked her, as he helped her get off the cart.

"It was a bumpy ride," she replied. "But except for that, I'm fine."

In other circumstances, she would have said something else, but she bit her tongue and kept the snark at bay. Otherwise, the knight would have heard just how uncomfortable the ride had been and how much her behind aches because of it... Had there not been so many people around her, she would have tried to charm her seat to be a bit more comfortable, but alas, comfort was not worth giving away her secrets. So she had bit her tongue and endured it.

And Elbert surely wouldn't have appreciated any kind of colorful language from a lady and for the moment he was her best chance at finding out more about this new land she had ended up in.

"Only a bit longer, my lady," Elbert said, "If all goes well we will reach Ironoaks in an hour or so."

All around them people were busy. Knights and guards had begun to usher the survivors away from the guardhouse and towards other parts of the village, promising food and shelter. Dorea, however, remained focused on the knight before her.

Elbert stood out among the group of knights, both in appearance and in the way the people treated him. Even here everyone looked at him with reverence and respect, even though the sigil on his armor was a different one from the sigil on the flags in front of the guardhouse.

Elbert caught her looking at that other sigil and started to explain, "That is the sigil of House Waynwood. The Waynwoods have ruled over Ironoaks and the surrounding lands since the days of the Andal Conquest."

Dorea hummed, not knowing what to answer to this tidbit of knowledge. She would remember it for later, but unless they have some sort of history book at Ironoaks that she can borrow, she would have to tread carefully or else she might attract all the wrong attention.

The sigil of House Waynwood was quite peculiar, though. A broken wheel. A black wheel, broken on one side, on a green field. She wondered why any noble family would choose such a sigil. Surely there is some fantastic tale of gods and bravery involved. There usually is.

"Come, we will continue on horseback now," Elbert told her, as he leads her towards the nearby stable, where he had left his horse.

A stablehand was already there, holding the reins of the horse. It was a young boy, small and dirty, likely no older than ten at most. Another quick reminder that this world was nothing like hers. Most of the children here never visit a school. They had to work to help their families survive...

Dorea looked at the horse with some suspicion. She still would have preferred her broom but that darn thing was waiting for her in her old world. But a horse... she remembered how some of the girls in her elementary school had dreamed about riding and horse and all that. Dorea had never really understood what the fuss was about. Especially now, when she stood next to a horse. It didn't look like it would be a good idea to sit on it, not to mention the smell... But she would have to ride to get to Ironoaks.

"Don't get any wrong ideas, horse," Dorea muttered, as the animal turned its head to look at her.

'I'm really good at riding on a broom, how much harder can this be?' she wondered. Mustering all her Gryffindor courage, she swung herself onto the saddle.

Elbert stood not far from her, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

'Shit,' Dorea thought, 'How have I messed up this time?'

"I... can ride on my own... I think."

"Of course," Elbert replied slowly. "But please excuse my manners. I shouldn't have stared. I just had not expected..."

"A woman trying to ride a horse?"

"No," he shook his head and refused to meet her eyes again. "I had not expected you to wear breeches. None of the ladies here do."

"I am not like any of the ladies you've met," she said. She sounded as defiant as she felt at that moment. But seriously, was it such a big issue that she had chosen to wear pants underneath the Flamel robe? Was this society really even more archaic than magical Britain? That should be absolutely impossible.

The horse suddenly shook, as Elbert climbed into the saddle behind her.

"I must beg your forgiveness again, Lady Dorea, but we don't have any horses fit for a lady at this outpost, so you will have to endure my presence for a little while longer."

As she turned her head to look at him, she realized how close he was to her. When she looked him in the eyes, they were so close their noses were almost touching. While she was no prude, this was certainly too close for comfort.

"It will only be for a little while," Elbert assured her, "Lady Anya will surely chide me enough for doing something this inappropriate, but it will save us hours of time on the road."

"And have you ever considered to simply ask if I'm okay with this? I can ride, you know," Dorea challenged. Not that she minded it that much, but it was somewhat surprising. So far Elbert had seemed like he would have a stroke the moment he touches anything but her hand.

And to her chagrin, Elbert had called her bluff immediately, as he chuckled and replied, "Would you really be able to tame one of our willful destriers?" He laughed openly when she didn't reply. "That's what I thought. Please don't be insulted by this, but the horses we ride have been bred for battle. They don't scare easily, they can overcome steep paths and find their way through these mountains. But they are willful beasts and require years of training to master."

"Riding is one talent, I have others."

"That you do," Elbert agreed. "My men have been surprised by how well the wounds of the villagers had been cared for. Not many of our Maesters can match your skill. Especially that salve you've used on the burn victims, it was very effective."

"A simple remedy. I've seen plenty of the herbs needed for it growing near the streams in these mountains."

It was one of the nicer surprises she had encountered in her first few days in this world. The plant life was eerily similar to that in her own world. So much so, in fact, that with the exception of the rarest ingredients, she would likely find almost everything to recreate many of her salves and potions. Not that she was dependent on those plants just yet, she had brought plenty of ingredients with her. But it was nice to know that she wouldn't be cut off completely, just in case she would need new supplies for another world ending event with lots of casualties...

"Maester Artes will surely be eager to hear it. The man is young and eager to learn all he can. A true boon to my uncle's castle," Elbert chuckled. His voice brought Dorea back to the present, or rather, to her peculiar situation of sharing a horse with a fully armored knight in some sort of twisted medieval fun time land.

She decided to ignore the unwelcome closeness and focused on the lands around them, which were passing by at a fast pace.

The long dirt road underneath the hooves of the horse followed the shoreline of the large lake she had seen before, with the village at one end of the road and the castle of Ironoaks at the other. Wooden bridges allowed them to dryly cross over several small streams.

Ironoaks itself, however, remained the main attraction. The castle overshadowed most of the surrounding landscape, with its strong stone walls and tall towers. Like a manmade mountain, hidden in the large valley between the actual mountains of the region.

The castle reminded her of the first time she had seen Hogwarts. Not because the castles look similar in any way, Hogwarts was far bigger and grander in every way imaginable. But just like Hogwarts had been her first real introduction to the people of the magical world, Ironoaks would be the same for this world. She could hardly contain the feeling of excitement and trepidation, a strange mix for sure.

"Say, Elbert, the lords of this castle..."

"House Waynwood," the knight supplied, "Lords of Ironoaks since the days of the Andal conquest thousands of years ago. They have held this castle ever since Ser Artys Arryn and his knights defeated the Bronze King Robar Royce in the Battle of Seven Stars."

Thousands of years... surely this wasn't an accurate date. Or had these people really not evolved technologically for a very long time? Just what kind of world is this? And here she had thought that the magical world had been way behind on the development...

"And these Waynwoods, are they family of yours?"

He laughed, a deep rumbling sound behind her back, "Not at all. The current lord's brother, Ser Elys Waynwood, is married to my aunt, Lady Alys Arryn. Other than that there is no direct blood relation at the moment."

"At the moment?" Dorea asked, her interest peaked.

"Well, Ser Elys and my aunt have quite a few daughters and there had been talks about me marrying one of them in the near future, though they might choose a different member of my family, who is not as closely related. We are no Targaryens, after all."

We are no Targaryens... such an odd comment. But the way he had said it, the meaning behind these words are likely common knowledge. Another thing she would have to investigate asap, so she wouldn't stick out too much.

"Are you worried?" Elbert asked her suddenly. "I can assure you that there is no need for it. The Waynwoods are a family of honorable people, who would never harm any lady. And you come here under my protection."

"That is what worries me," Dorea muttered. She had not meant to say it out loud, but the words had slipped out before she had realized it. "I mean... ahem... Why are you so forthcoming? I am a complete stranger after all. My family does not even hail from your country."

"True, but I am not the kind of man to abandon a woman in need of help. And the servants of House Flamel have traded with the Vale for over a century now, so we do have an obligation to protect a daughter of their family."

She wanted to groan. Just her luck. She had tried to keep a low profile. Get her bearings and find out more about this world without others bothering her before she would seek out Perenelle on her own terms. Now she had just ended up in a place that not just knew the Flamels, but one that even had cordial relations with them. Now the Flamels would find out about her before she has any chance to gain an advantage... In the worst case, she might even be at their mercy now.

"Though, I do have to say that I was surprised to find a daughter of House Flamel in a small village here in the Vale. It's the first time in over a century that a Flamel has visited Westeros," Elbert continued. "Usually we only trade with their servants."

"Then how can you be so sure that I'm the real deal and not just some impostor?" Dorea quipped. Elbert had been far too accepting of her cover story, so she really wants an answer to that question.

Again the knight laughed. Whether he was amused by the stupidity or the absurdity of her question remained unknown.

"The sigil sewn onto your cloak is recognizable," he answered.

The cloak... the one Perenelle's white-robed monkey squad had given her. It had been well made and in contrast to the rest of her the clothing they had forced her to wear, it was actually comfortable and practical. She had not even realized that the Flamels had also marked her as theirs with it. In hindsight, she was glad that she had kept the clothes she had gotten from those servants. After some adjustments with those nifty household charms Molly Weasley had taught her, the clothes were actually halfway comfortable. Not to mention that she avoided many uneasy questions now. It would have been very odd to explain why she was wearing modern day muggle clothing in a medieval world, considering how Elbert had reacted to her wearing pants...

But Elbert was finished yet, "Also there is no one foolish enough to falsely claim to be a Flamel. All Houses have to deal with impostors and bastards from time to time, but the Flamels are known for their ruthlessness when it comes to dealing with these kinds of people."

So there would be fighting involved pretty soon. Unless Perenelle's monkeys would recognize her, they might even try to kill her for using the Flamel name without permission. Oh, the joys of being Dorea Potter...

"Only a fool would do that," she mumbled. Elbert hummed in agreement.

"Either way, you are safe here in the Vale. For as long as you wish to stay, I will guarantee your safety, on my word as the heir of House Arryn," Elbert vowed.

Again Dorea was at loss for words. So she had not just ended up in a place where the Flamels might find her easily, she had also ended up in the company of an heir to an old and prestigious family. Can't she ever do normal? Just for once? A chance to lay low, away from the center of attention. That would be a nice change of pace... but alas, she had no luck with that.

Elbert continued to talk, even though he never got more but the bare minimum responses from Dorea. He didn't seem to mind, though, as he told her about the land around them and the things he had seen and done here.

Not long after the sun had disappeared behind the mountains, they had reached the large gates of the castle. Up close Ironoaks did manage to look imposing, though it lacked any of the magic she had come to expect from a castle. This was no Hogwarts, she reminded herself again and again. She wasn't sure whether or not the people here even know about magic, or worse, whether they would accept or abhor it.

"Who goes there?" one of the guards, standing on the wall above them, called out.

"Ser Elbert and his knights," Elbert replied loudly, "We have returned from battle."

"Open the gate!"

The reaction to Elbert's words was immediate. No one would refuse them entry, that much was obvious. But what would await them inside?

The portcullis of the castle was raised just enough for Elbert and his knights to enter the castle courtyard. Once inside, the portcullis was closed once more, with a loud bang. No one else would get in or out of the castle during the night.

A lanky man ran across the courtyard and quickly towards Elbert and Dorea. For a moment Dorea had mistaken him for a wizard, because of the gray robes he was wearing. Every step he made was accompanied by the sound of the rattling chains he had hung around his neck. The man certainly looked so utterly wacky, she was sure that Professor Dumbledore would have immediately taken a liking to him. If he was inept as well, this man might even be allowed to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts...

"Ser Elbert, thank the Mother for her mercy. The rider you have sent ahead has already informed us about the battle. We all have been so relieved to hear that you have returned to us unharmed."

Mostly unharmed, Dorea thought idly. She had seen it before, the way he would move because of an untreated cut or bruise. How he wouldn't put his full weight on his right leg or raise his arm above his head because of the cut she had spotted between the cracks of his heavy armor. He was far from fine, but he would survive without trouble unless he forgets to clean one of the wounds and lets it fester. Then things could get ugly.

"I need to talk to Lord Waynwood immediately, Maester Bors," Elbert replied grimly, "We have no time to dawdle with those savages raiding the outlying villages of this lordship."

So that was a Maester. Dorea had another close look at the man. From the few things she had heard from Elbert, this man was at the very least an accomplished healer in his own right. If there is such a thing as an accomplished healer in a medieval world. The moment he brings out the leeches they would have words.

"Of course, my lord," the Maester agreed. "But Lord Lymond health has worsened considerably, so he won't be able to attend the meeting. Lady Anya will decide in his place."

Elbert sighed deeply behind her. "That will have to do."

Then the Maester's focus shifted towards Dorea, who was still sitting in front of Elbert. "And Lady Anya requests that you bring Lady Flamel as well."

Elbert only grunted, before he hastened his horse towards the stable, where busy stablehands quickly came to assist the riders with their horses.

The knight was the first off the horse and he would have tried to help Dorea climb down from the horse, had she not jumped off the moment she was free to do so. This earned her more strange looks, as her actions were anything but ladylike.

"This will be a long day if they continue to look at me like this every time I take a wrong breath," she mutters sourly.

"They mean you no harm," Elbert assured her, "I need to speak to the Lady immediately, but I will send someone to take you to a free room."

"But my lord, Lady Anya's orders..." the Maester exclaimed.

"I don't think that it is necessary to inconvenience Lady Dorea even further..."

"Lady Anya insists," the Maester stressed.

Dorea laughed lightly, as she saw the look of annoyance on Elbert's face. It was easy to guess that he and this Lady Anya don't see things eye to eye. He must have had his reasons for trying to keep her away from that lady. But this only piqued Dorea's curiosity even more. Now she had to meet this lady and see what irks the noble knight so much.

"It's fine, Elbert," she assured the man, "If the lady wishes to see me, it would be rude to deny her."

"As you wish, but be careful. Lady Anya can be... very opinionated. Not to mention her insistence on the protocol," Elbert said, as he guided her towards a large archway that leads into the main keep of the castle.

The halls of the castle were surprisingly bare. No paintings, no suits of armor. Only banners made of dyed linen and the cold stones could be seen on either side. Every now and then there was a heavy wooden door, but all of them remained closed as they passed.

It was only a short walk before they finally reached a long hall. Large windows to the left and right of the room held windows painted with figures that were either revered ancestors or holy figures of these people. But in the dark of the night, these pictures evoked a feeling of gloom, almost as if ghosts might spring from the painted faces.

The windows couldn't keep her attention for long, however, as Elbert lead her towards a large table at the far end of the room. There sat two middle-aged women, both dressed in far finer clothing than any of the other people she had seen in this castle so far. The way they carried themselves and how looked at her made it clear that they were the ones in charge here.

The Maester, who had trailed after them like a shadow, pushed past Dorea and quickly took his place next one of the women.

"Lady Anya," Elbert bowed lightly before the woman on the right. Then he turned towards the other, "Lady Rowena."

There was obviously more affection for the latter of the two, which was understandable. If Dorea remembered correctly, the latter woman was married to Elbert's uncle, whom the knight reveres greatly. And judging by the indulgent smile on Lady Rowena's lips, she seemed rather fond of Elbert as well.

"It is good to see you back with us, healthy and whole," Lady Rowena spoke. Her voice was calm and soothing, like a mother gently speaking to her child. Dorea took an immediate liking to her, "The horrid news of this brutal attack has left us all in worry."

"There was no reason to worry. The Mountain Clans are no match for the valor of our knights. I only wish we had been faster, so we could have saved more of the villagers. All we could do was avenge them and free the women these brutes had taken."

"So the clans have been dealt with?" the other woman, Lady Anya, asked sharply. The seriousness of the woman reminded Dorea immediately of Professor McGonnagal, especially in those earlier years at Hogwarts. Strict but most likely fair. A no-nonsense type of person.

"There will be more," Elbert cautioned, "There are always more of them. They feel emboldened for some reason."

"Then our knights will quell their fervor with our steel," Lady Anya insisted. "But we are getting ahead of ourselves. We have a guest in our midst and you have not even introduced her properly."

Elbert grimaced, as Lady Anya pinned the blame on him alone, even though all of them had ignored Dorea's presence since the moment she had first set foot in this room.

"Forgive me for this," Elbert said, "This is Lady Dorea Flamel of Lys."

For a brief moment, Dorea wondered whether or not she was supposed to bow here. Both of these ladies seemed to be a big deal here, or else someone like Elbert wouldn't show such deference. But then she remembered that women in those fantasy movies she had watched as a child rarely bow. They curtsy. She tried to mimic this, though she was sure that she looked more like a dying doe than a well-mannered lady while doing it.

"She had been traveling with a merchant caravan through the valleys, but was abandoned by her companions at the first sight of trouble," Elbert continued his introduction with that stupid lie she had come up with. The more often she heard someone else say it, the stupider it sounded. Surely someone would call her out on this sometime soon.

Lady Rowena gasped in shock, while Lady Anya adopted a look of well-maintained indifference. But soon enough her expression turned into a frown.

"How despicable. To abandon a lady in such danger," the lady exclaimed, "Fear not, Lady Dorea, I will have Maester Bors send out Ravens to all other noble houses in the Vale. They will find your cowardly companions and punish them accordingly."

"Please don't," Dorea interjected quickly. She really did not want some poor guys getting punished because of her lie.

"You may be a gentle person, but such a crime deserves punishment. They should be flogged for days for such a heinous dereliction of their duties," Lady Anya insisted.

"They were afraid. They didn't do it to harm me," Dorea countered, "No one should be punished for trying to stay alive." It felt weird to argue on behalf of someone who doesn't even exist, but Dorea knew that something like this would happen again and again, for as long as she had to rely on lies to justify her presence in this world.

Lady Rowena looked oddly pale all of a sudden, as she watched Dorea, her eyes wide open in shock. "All this blood. Are you wounded, my dear. Bors, make haste to help Lady Dorea and..."

"It is alright... my lady," Dorea replied. "None of this blood is mine."

During her short confrontation with Lady Anya, Dorea had taken a step forward and fully into the light of the many candles that light up the room. Only now the two ladies at the table had realized that Dorea's robes were stained red in many places.

"Lady Dorea is a fully accomplished healer, Lady Rowena," Elbert came to Dorea's help. "She has saved the lives of many villagers today."

"A woman well versed in the healing arts? How very curious," Maester Bors mumbled, obviously louder than intended, as she quickly fell silent when Lady Anya rewarded him with a stern look.

"None the less, it wouldn't harm for the Maester to make sure that Lady Dorea is in good health," Lady Anya insisted, not giving in. "But for now a servant will escort you to a room, my lady. As Lady of House Waynwood, I welcome you to Ironoaks and offer you the full hospitality of my family."

"Thank you," Dorea replied.

Was she supposed to say more? Some sort of respectful thank you or other words of fake friendship? Dorea only knew one thing for sure, a room and possibly a bath sounded very appealing right about now.

Once she was sure that there was nothing more to say, Lady Anya quickly called for one of her servants. An elderly woman, long-limbed and thin, who bade her follow.

Elbert remained behind and their discussion quickly continued, even before Dorea had even left the room.

"Do you believe she is who she claims," Dorea heard Lady Anya ask.

Elbert replied firmly, "I have no reason to doubt her."

"No matter, I have already sent a raven to Gulltown for them to send some Flamel servants here and..."

Before Dorea could hear the rest of the statement, the servant had already ushered her out of the room. Not that the things she had heard weren't troubling enough. The Flamels would be coming here. Soon they would know where she is and then... Who knows what will happen then...

* * *

"Mione, are you not worried? We haven't heard from Rea in a week already," Ron said.

He and his wife sat at the table in the kitchen of their London flat, sharing their breakfast, something that had become increasingly rare due to their work.

"You know Rea better than anyone, Ron. She has those times when she doesn't want to be found. She will calm down, apologize and everything will be back to normal in no time," Hermione assured him.

"I don't think that will happen this time," Ron muttered.

He listlessly stabbed at his breakfast, his appetite seemingly gone for now. The rift between his best friend and his wife had long since begun to make his life miserable as well, as he wasn't sure whom to support in this case. Either woman would expect him to stand by her side, though he found neither side particularly welcoming... Not to mention the wrath of the one he would side against... he shuddered just thinking about it.

Hermione finally put down her muggle newspaper, behind which she had been hidden for nearly all of their conversation so far. She folded it neatly before she put it down on the table next to her. A weary sigh escaped her, as she saw her husband's dour mood.

"Ron, everything will be alright. We have gone through much worse and reconciled." She reached across the table and put her hand on his. "Dorea has... a difficult life and I want to help her as much as you do, but we can't help her when she obstinately refuses to accept her problems."

"Still, I'm worried about her right now, Mione," Ron insisted, "Even when she has one of her moods, she never ceases contact to everyone. Usually, she would stay in touch with someone, either me or Bill or Ginny."

"It is odd," Hermione admitted slowly, "But not unheard of."

"I will stop by Grimmauld Place before I go to work," Ron announced, "Just to check up on her. Hearing her eloquent way of telling me to sod off is better than not hearing from her at all."

"Just try not to be pushy. Merlin knows we all tried that and it never gets us anywhere with her," Hermione muttered.

For a moment Ron considered making a comment about how Hermione being pushy had caused this entire conflict but decided against it. It wouldn't solve anything and only earn him a week of sleeping on the couch. He really hates that couch and he was sure that Hermione had somehow charmed it to be even more uncomfortable in an effort to stop him from lazing around too much.

He stood up and rounded the table. With one kiss as a goodbye, he left Hermione and their home and apparated to an alley near Grimmauld Place. He could only hope that his surrogate sister would be more willing to put an end to this senseless quarrel.

It was still weird to just see Grimmauld Place sitting there in between Numbers 11 and 13. The Fidelius charm was no longer needed these days, so no one had bothered to cast a new one after Headmaster Dumbledore's death. But for Ron, the already creepy ancestral home of House Black appeared even more daunting when it looked so... muggle.

What worried him more, though, was the fact that the front door was unlocked. Dorea had lost most of her trust in their society after the war, which had resulted in her adopting some of Mad Eye's more paranoid mannerisms. Leaving the front door unlocked was an obvious sign for trouble.

The house itself seemed entirely normal, as he entered. The place no longer looked as it once had. Gone was the doom and gloom atmosphere, replaced by a more homely feeling. Dorea had made this place truly hers, though she had kept some of the old the Black's more... questionable artifacts and artworks. The shrieking painting of Walburga Black being one of those.

Strangely enough, the painting remained silent as he passed. Actually, it was completely still.

At this point, Ron was sure that something was amiss. Something must have happened, so he pulled out his wand, ready to defend himself if need be.

'Clack. Clack.'

A strange noise in the kitchen made him pause for a moment. He listened carefully, but the sound was gone again. None the less, Ron proceeded further into the house, applying charms to make himself less noticeable and muffle the sounds of his steps.

The corridor was dark, seemingly without end and utterly barren of anything. The creepy collections of old paintings and trophies had been thrown out long ago, thanks to his own mother's zealous crusade to make the house a proper home for Dorea. It was obvious, though, that the girl had not even attempted to decorate the house ever since...

'Clack. Clack.'

The strange noise was there again. Much closer this time. It had come from the kitchen, he was sure of it. The room was nearby. He could actually see its door, standing slightly ajar, daring him to enter.

He peered inside, careful to remain undetected, but he couldn't see anything.

'Clack. Clack.'

There is it was again, that strange noise. It came from the far end of the room, where washbasin was located. Ron remembered that place well, after the many hours his mother had forced him to clean dishes there. Slave labor... many unhappy memories...

He forced himself to focus on the task ahead. Slowly he pushed the door further open until the opening was big enough for him to slip through. For a moment Ron hesitated. Maybe it would have been better to call for backup the moment he had noticed that something was wrong. But it was too late now.

With all the Gryffindor courage he could muster, he stormed into the room, wand in hand and ready to curse whatever intruder he might find. What he did find, though, was far less dangerous than he had anticipated.

At the other end of the room, he could see the lone figure of Dorea's old House Elf. Kreacher stood there, shoulders slumped and head hanging, as he washed a dozen plates and stacked them on the other side of the washbasin. Once he was done, he repeated the entire exercise, only in the other direction.

Ron did not put his wand away, though, as he approached the Elf. His behavior was strange, even for Kreacher's personal brand of crazy. Once Ron was close enough, the Elf finally acknowledged his presence.

"Mistress is not here anymore. She won't be back," the Elf said, his voice monotonous and tired.

Ron frowned as he heard this.

"What do mean she is gone?" he demanded to know. "Dorea wouldn't just leave for good without saying goodbye."

On the other hand, he had to admit, it wasn't entirely unexpected. Hermione had warned all of their friends that Dorea might sooner or later just leave and never come back. Their friend had been restless ever since the war and while they all had continued with their lives and moved on to the next big adventures, Dorea had never found a place for herself. Even Ministry Drone Percy had realized that after the last family dinner Dorea had attended and he wasn't exactly close... or emotionally... human to understand others.

"Gone. Mistress had stunned me and collected her personal belongings. Everything is gone except for her broom. She had taken everything and left. Even the bad master's motorcycle," Kreacher elaborated.

Having been abandoned by his mistress seemed to have hit the Elf even harder than the death of his previous master had. But Ron was more concerned about Dorea's sudden escape. Did she really get away without saying a word? No goodbye, no reason? Such a drastic step...

"When...?" For a moment his voice failed him. "When did she leave?"

"Days... many days. A week, maybe more," Kreacher mumbled, as he began washing the pates once more.

Ron just stood there in stunned silence. Almost one week? That would mean that Dorea left shortly after their last conversation. Had she already planned to escape at that time? That his best friend, no, his sister, thought it best to just run away ... The thought of it hurt Ron the most. He could not believe this. He had to see it with his own eyes, just to understand it.

So he hurried out of the kitchen and into the stairwell. He ran up the stairs, almost falling as he took several steps at once. In a hurry, he quickly reached her bedroom on the topmost floor.

What he found there was chaos. Everything Dorea could not take was scattered on the floor. Some of the drawers even looked like they had been pulled out in such a hurry that they had broken. Did Dorea want to escape in such a hurry that she damaged her own furniture?

Something was rotten here. He was sure something was wrong. He had learned enough in his Auror training to recognize a potential crime scene, and Dorea's room had enough visible traces to make him suspicious.

But he knew better than investigating this alone. He would need help or else he might miss something or worse, destroy important evidence. Luckily, he knew more than enough trustworthy people to help him here. People who would do something to help Dorea should need it. He had to make a few visits first...


End file.
